Reading The Signs
by notalone91
Summary: Katniss' marriage is in shambles. She's out of a psychiatric facility and back in Seam City to try and fix what's left, but a new friendship might bring her more than she bargained for. T for extremely harsh language, allusions to sexual relations, mental health issues, and about a million other things. (Silver Linings Playbook AU.)
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hey all. It's been ages since I posted a story on here, so forgive me if I grow lax in my updates. Feel free to leave words of encouragement to get the juices flowing. Anyhoo, this is an idea that's been kicking around for ages, so here goes! Also- as things get heated, feel free to tell me if I should change the rating. It's definitely an R-rated thing, but not for sex and it seems that if nobody's got their dick out, you get reamed for making a post M.

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The world is unfair. The odds are never in our favor. There is no silver lining. Or, at least that's what I would have told you up until recently.

My therapist, Dr. Aurelius, thinks that cataloging the events of the past year would help me put all of them to bed, so here goes.

My name is Katniss Everdeen. I'm 28 years old from Seam City, Pennsylvania. I just moved back in with my surrogate parents, Effie Trinket and Haymitch Abernathy. My mom was never much help, so that is what it is. I don't really hold it against her too much anymore, but we don't have much else to say to each other. She lives down the shore and is all the better for it. My dad died when I was young. It was sudden and unexpected, but that's the danger of industrial jobs, I suppose. My little sister, Prim, is 22 and is the saint of the family. Even though I sort of resent it, she's got her shit together and she's my biggest hero. My marriage failed. I'm over it. I wasn't, but I am now. I spent eight months in Capitol Rehab Center out west as opposed to jail. It's not something that I'd expected to have to deal with. Ever. But the song. That stupid fucking song. I'd been back a couple of days and feeling good when it hit me for the first time.

Wait a minute- let me backtrack. You all don't even know what I was in for. I beat a chick within an inch of her life. It wasn't like it was unprovoked. Yeah, Gale and I got married young, right out of college. But, we'd been in love forever. It wasn't like no one had expected it. We'd been best friends growing up and, to be honest, I'd never thought of him as a "guy" in that sense, let alone a potential partner. If I'm being honest, I'd never thought of anyone that way. But, the day we graduated high school, he told me that he loved me. He kissed me. I cried. I actually ran away. I took off into the woods behind our high school and hid. I know that doesn't sound romantic, but it just took me by surprise, you know? Anyway, finally, he convinced me. And we went off like a rocket, hot and heavy and headed for anywhere that wasn't here. Then he got a job at the local high school and that was it. Here we stayed. And I guess that's cool, because, at the time, I really felt like I needed to be here for Prim, anyway. So, as for what I did... well. You don't need to know that part yet. All you need to know is that it's just a thing. It's a thing I did that I'm not proud of and it was violent and it wasn't cool.

They'd declared that I'd been living with undiagnosed bipolar disorder and couldn't have been held responsible in a court of law, so instead of proceeding, they offered me a deal: rehab and a restraining order from Gale. My Gale. He didn't want me anywhere near him under any circumstances. Like he couldn't trust me. Like it was him that I'd attacked. And, don't misunderstand, it's not that kind of a rehab. I'm not a drunk or hopped up on meth or anything like that. It's closer to a physical rehab. Just for the brain. Using it the way you're supposed to as opposed to the way that hurt you before. It's not as serious as it sounds. I know I sound pretty flip about all of this. I get that it's a big deal, but I don't want it to be made out to be something it's not.

So, I did eight months out West. Effie came to get me from the airport after a lengthy Skype session with my doctor there. He insisted that I'd just started to get used to it there, but Effie... she was great. She turned 15 shades of pink and red, telling them that eight months was perfectly long enough. "It's not proper for a young woman of her capability," she retorted. I love her. She was right though. Eight months was more than enough. All I'd wanted to do was get back to Gale, even though I did make a friend out there. Johanna. She's a trip. But you'll hear more about her later.

Even though I was excited to start working things out with Gale, it was decided that it was better for all of us if I didn't go right back to him. That might have something to do with the restraining order. Can you feel me rolling my eyes from here? Because I am. So, anyway, that's what happened. When I get back, for what you may be able to imagine as the most awkward reunion of my life- I haven't stayed the night in this house in six years. Probably longer.

And yet here I was, in the foyer of the house in the Victor's Village section of Seam City. In the same house Effie and Haymitch had lived in forever. The house my little sister and I had lived in since our dad died. The house that, when I got married, I said I'd never go back to. Not that there were bad memories, per se, but because I'm not the same person I was when I went away to school.

Haymitch, and his longtime friend and business partner- or sometimes rival- Chaff sat around the dining room table arguing over some papers I couldn't make out. Whatever it was, I could tell that my interrupting them wouldn't be well received. I made a beeline for the stairs, anxious to get my stuff back in my room, until Effie gave a persistent "ahem" and edged me for the table.

With a sigh, I took a long pleading look at her, hoping she'd pick up on my desperation to put this conversation off as long as possible. No dice. She dug her perfectly manicured nails, pink today, into my arm and put me in the chair at the head of the table. "Haymitch," she said softly with what could only have been a small gesture to me.

He looked up at her, missing me completely. After a moment, he looked at me. It seemed to take him a bit of processing to realize exactly what was happening. Drunk, probably. Not that I'd expect any different after all these years. I offered a hesitant smile, trying to gauge whether or not he was okay with it. Or if he even knew.

Haymitch stood up, heading toward me. He seemed just as uncomfortable as I felt. Not a good sign. His eyes searched me, as if he didn't believe I was in front of him. Despite not being quite as old as either of my parents, both he and Effie are old enough that there is that sense of maturity and demand for respect that only comes from parental units. Who knew, right? "You good, Sweetheart?" he asked, shoving his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans.

"Yup. Totally," I nodded. It wasn't a lie... exactly. I felt good, but there was something missing. Something that could only be attributed to Gale.

He opened his arms to me. Something he hadn't done in years. He opened his arms to me and gestured to himself. "Get over here, then," he added, making sure I knew it was wanted. I stood up, hesitated a moment, then nestled myself in his arms. Behind me, I could hear Effie stifle a sniffle. Neither of us had ever been particularly affectionate toward each other. It wasn't that we didn't love each other, but our relationship had always been more sarcasm and light digs. Part of me wished it had been more normal, but I knew that my teenage self certainly didn't want to believe that Haymitch had any idea what he was talking about and he wasn't the type to try to compete for a space in my heart that he was sure belonged to my father only. But that just wasn't so. And I wish I'd been better at telling him. After our embrace passed into a more than uncomfortable time span, he broke away, asking me what I'd been afraid of. "You got it?"

The pin. Of course I had it. It was one of the few possessions from my childhood that I really, truly cherished. When he and Effie legally adopted me, almost 2 whole years before they adopted Prim, Effie and Haymitch gave me a pin. The Seam Mockingjays, our local football team, emblem. It was small and gold and, while I didn't really care a great deal about the game itself, it was a symbol of unity- of family- between us. They gave me the pin. Haymitch had a watch with the emblem on it. Effie had earrings. And it made us a family. "Yeah. Right here. They wouldn't let me have it in my room..." I stammered. "I could hold it in therapy sessions, but that was it. When I left, they gave it back to me."

He looked crestfallen. Not only had they ripped me away from my family, they'd taken away the thing that started the recognition that that's who they were. He shook his head and backed away, gesturing a little manically with his hands between Effie and myself. "What did they think you were gonna do, slice your wrists with a pin? For fucks sake..." I backed away a little, because, yeah- that's exactly what they thought. Either that or that I was going to stab someone with it. Well, with me, probably the latter. But still, it was a little insensitive of him to say. Still, he plowed on. "Well, at least you got it now." He played around with the watch on his wrist for a moment and then turned to Effie. "So, what is this? I can't get you to shut up, but you don't tell me you've gone and gotten this one out early?" he asked, mussing my hair up and sitting on the edge of the table.

"She was ready, Haymitch. It wouldn't have been proper." She swatted his ass a bit, hinting that that was not a chair. He didn't seem convinced.

"Yeah, Haymitch. It wouldn't have been proper. I'm ready," I repeated, more for my benefit than his.

"Alright, I was just asking," he said, throwing his hands up in defeat, backing away from us and toward Chaff, who hadn't seen fit to interrupt our conversation as we had his. Still, Haymitch wasn't giving up. He looked back to Effie, "You don't normally keep things from me unless you don't think it's right-"

She sighed, putting an arm around my shoulders and bouncing her hip against mine a bit. "Well, this was different, darling."

I looked over at her, clasping my hand over hers, a smile threatening to overtake my face. She really did trust me to be back here. "Yeah, totally different," I agreed.

"Mhm," he hummed, looking over at Chaff, rolling his eyes. "I'm just checking."

"The court said it was okay," Effie stated plainly, leaving out our Skype session and the ridiculous amount of convincing it had really taken.

For some reason, Haymitch seemed to be trying desperately to figure out a reason this wasn't okay. "I don't really give tw- what about the doctors? What did they have to say because ultimately, they're pulling the strings there." He'd finally hit it, right on the head.

Effie took a few steps away from me and rested her hands on Haymitch's chest, kissing him on the forehead, easily reached between his lack of height and her stilettos. "I talked to the doctors, Haymitch. Everything's handled," she said, patting him on the back and crossing into the kitchen.

"It's handled, Haymitch," I added, albeit uselessly. "Totally. Effie's got this." While 'I've got this,' is what I wanted to say; what I want to believe. I don't have this. I just want to go see Gale.

"Alright, alright," he conceded after a while, plopping down at the table, catty-corner from Chaff, who'd been busying himself with the papers- no, blueprints- at the table in front of them.

"So," I asked, casually, "what are you doing with yourself."

Haymitch's chest puffed out a bit. "I'm opening a bar." He was clearly proud of the idea.

I wished I could be, but all I could see was a man who'd been trying for years to keep his head above water. "A bar, huh? Where everybody knows your name?" I mused, and he smiled a bit, nodding. I tried not to let my judgement cross onto my face, still unable to keep secrets from him, just as I hadn't been able to when I was a kid. "Where's the money coming from?" I asked.

He deflated a bit, eyes narrowing at me. "I have my ways, sweetheart. Don't you worry." He patted my hand lightly and intended to go back to their discussion.

The problem was, in the shuffling of the papers, Chaff had uncovered the little black book. "Mhm. I see. All legal and totally taxable right?" I ask, knowing deep down what it contains.

He began to grow increasingly more angry with me. "What's that supposed to mean? What are you saying about-" he pushed the papers around a bit and stood back up, eye level with me again, daring me to challenge him.

"Nothing. I just-" And I froze. He looked so hurt that I'd accuse him of something he swore off of. And he wanted so badly to be free of it. My mind reeled, backpedaling and settling on the sight of Chaff's car in the driveway. "Effie was saying earlier, you've been back bookmaking."

From the kitchen, her voice carried through the house at a little better than a screech. "I did no such thing," clearly offended at the insinuated breach of manners.

"Effie, not 5 minutes ago, when you were out front whining about having to deal with Chaff. And she meant no disrespect, just that you're a bit of a pain in the ass." And that much was true. But that's all that was true. She didn't mention it. She's always had a 'see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil' mentality, bless her.

"Fair," Chaff nodded in agreement, breaking his silence. "I am that." He rose, crossing to me with a devious smile. He's a bit older than Haymitch, so he thinks he can get away with things in that dirty old man kind of way. I backed away, wary of what he could possibly have planned. "How're you doing, sweetheart? You're looking well..." He half-growled. Before Haymitch or I could protest, his lips were on mine.

I wriggled away, smacking his shoulder halfheartedly. He really is a harmless guy, but, ultimately, that doesn't change the fact that it's still really uncomfortable. I crossed behind Haymitch, gesturing at my left hand over my shoulder, "You know I'm still married, right?"

Seizing the opportunity- and my free hand- Haymitch queried, "Speaking of- what are you gonna do now that that's all over?" He spun me back to him, looking me square in the eyes, as he had probably a hundred times before, but this time, his crystal blue eyes seemed to suggest that he knew something I didn't.

"Over? Haymitch, are you kidding?" I shook him off, backing away and propping myself up in the bay window. "It's not over it's just a hitch. We're married. We love each other. I just have to prove to him that I'm not gonna wig out again." And I believed that that was it, too.

"Is that so?" Haymitch nodded, incredulously.

"Mhm. And, I'm gonna go out a little later on and grab all the books on his syllabus for this year just to show him." I was bound and determined to prove to everyone, and I guess at that point still myself, that that was this grand, sweeping, romantic gesture- read these high school level books and that'll show him you're all better now. Totally. A+, Katniss.

He remained suitably unimpressed. Come to think of it, he laughed. "Is that- Is that the best thing you can think of, sweetheart?"

I gritted my teeth at the completely innocuous nickname that, for whatever reason, seemed to be setting me off that day. I guess I'd never really felt like it was as condescending as it was. "Yeah, I think so," I rebutted.

"Alright. If you say so." He rolled his eyes and grabbed a beer off the table, opening the tab and taking a long swig.

Even the sound of his swallowing was starting to really piss me off. I needed to get out of there, and fast. "You know what... Just... Panem et Circenses. That's all. That's what this is." I repeated my little mantra to myself. Panem et Circenses. That's what this is. Did I know what it meant? No. It was on a poster on my wall at Capitol and I'd just sort of repeated it to myself to calm me down. I wasn't allowed on the internet out there and couldn't find it in any book, so I figured it was something positive. It even sounded regal. To me anyway.

"Panama Arkansas? What the fuck is that?" He choked out, wiping at his mouth, putting the can down. "Is that some upper crust jab at-"

"No, Haymitch. No, it's just- It's-" I stammered. How was I going to explain it. "You know what it means? It means I'm gonna find a silver lining in all of this. I just gotta use this all as fuel and catch fire. Watch me burn." I spun around with a flourish, like a kid showing off a new dress.

"Oh, I'm watching something, alright," he concluded, picking his beer up one more time and knocking it back.

I closed my eyes and turned back for the stairs, hoping I could get unpacked and out before the bookstore closed. It was all I could do to just hope that, maybe, things would die down and then I could focus on why I was back here: getting Gale back.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Hi there! Thanks for all of the reviews &amp; follows! I really appreciate it. It looks like I'm probably going to update this Sundays and Thursdays (hopefully, though, it'll be later on in the evening than today's update, but I have to head out so it was either now or wait til Sunday and I didn't want to hold it hostage). Also, this should come in somewhere around 10 chapters with a brief epilogue. I'm _hoping _that I'll get some ideas for alternative P.O.V. chapters as, shall we say, deleted scenes, likely to be posted after the epilogue. I have a few ideas, but for right now, Katniss' journal entries/P.O.V. is the most important. Now, for some shameless self promotion: If you want, you can follow me on tumblr (jackingbackpeeta or notalone91 if you just want the writing stuff) and get some fun extras for this and occasionally other stories! For this particular chapter, I want to throw out there a tw for light discussion of psychological diagnoses and a brief description of battery. So, without further ado- chapter 2!

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Determination can do a lot for your mind. That was the first thing they taught me out at Capitol. My friend Johanna told me it was bullshit and that determination didn't mean squat when the world's out to get you and there's no one really left for you. She's not a silver lining person, I guess. I don't know. As for me, I'm determined. I'm positive. There's a silver lining here. Right!? Right!

After the discussion with Haymitch and Effie, I put my small amount of belongings away in the same dresser in the same room I grew up in. Feeling smaller than normal, and younger than possible, and not in the '_Fuck-yeah-I'm-gonna-screw-a-college-guy_' way, but the '_well-okay-home-by-10-lights-out-by-11-rigid-structure-yes-ma'am-no-choices-made-on-my-own-everyone-else-knows-what's-good-for-me-better-than-i-do-i'm-not-28-fucking-years-old-or-anything-i-got-it_' kind of way. Not a good feeling, by any definition. So, I headed out for the bookstore, hoping to get my hands on at least the first couple of Gale's books. I pocketed the list and took off.

Upon getting there, I opened the piece of paper and found myself frustrated. None of these seemed like happy books, if I remembered correctly: 7 books. One about a mental hospital, one with a whole bunch of abstract short stories, one about 4 hispanic sisters under a dictator, one about 4 american sisters in the civil war, one about 2 suicidal teenagers, one about a witch hunt and the last about rich people and unrequited love. Fascinating. Okay, so coffee first. Definitely.

What the hell is he teaching these kids? I couldn't believe this, I don't really remember too much about high school, but I don't think we were reading this kind of stuff. I mean, I remember reading the one about the dude who turns into a cockroach, but that wouldn't have been American Literature. Almost had to be Russian... German maybe? And I remember reading a bunch of Shakespeare. And the one with the big dude who breaks rabbits. But not this. Whatever, I guess it doesn't really matter. I crossed to the counter and ordered my drink. Grande something mocha-y, I think. Not that it ever really matters much to me.

As I crossed down to the pick-up counter, a voice came from behind me. "Buying for a younger sibling?" he asked. I turned around to find the source of the question, and there he was. Dazzling smile, ashy blond hair, clear blue eyes, not too tall, strong jaw, nice build... but those eyes.

"I'm sorry?" I asked, swallowing my impulses and coming back to earth. Who was this guy and what sort of question was that?

Immediately, he recoiled. The change was almost imperceptible, but it was as though I'd reminded him that people could actually hear the things coming out of his mouth. "Those books. They're typical high school junk and you don't look old enough to have a kid that age. So, I figured sibling, maybe." He moved one hand up to his neck and rubbed a bit, nervously. "Or feeling nostalgic?" He offered, eyes flitting down.

"Neither." I answered, proffering my left hand, not like it seemed like this guy was really going there anyway. Probably just friendly. "My husband's a teacher," I added, for the benefit of exactly no one.

"Ah. Well, that is a shame," he responded. A glint of disappointment crossed his eyes, then subsided, almost as though he'd decided it didn't care.

"Yeah," I added weakly, fiddling with my engagement band.

He paid for his bottle of water and pastry with a smile before turning back to me. "Well, best of luck, Mrs. Hawthorne," he said with a wink.

My mouth dropped open, useless. "How did you..." was all I could manage before he pointed at my hand. I'd never gotten used to being called Mrs. Hawthorne. My name was never legally changed, so it didn't happen very often so now, removed from the situation, it threw me for a loop.

Not my hand. "The paper, relax," he cooed, sensing my rising panic. "Bye, now." And with that, he turned to go.

Lamely, and a little awkwardly, I called out an uncharacteristically meek "Bye," still trying to process why I got so flustered.

He turned back to me briefly, squinting, as though working through something in his head. "Oh. Go with that one first. It's a play, so it's super quick. Plus, there are movies if you really don't feel like reading it. I'd go with the Winona Ryder one. The movie thing goes for that, too, come to think of it," he offered, gesturing to two titles on the page. And then he smiled- the same dazzling smile that set me reeling just a moment before.

"Thanks for your input," I breathed, silently wondering what could possibly be the hold up with the coffee. I tapped my fingers lightly on the counter.

"You're welcome," he added, with a genuine care. I stared after him as he seemed to vanish into the late evening crowd.

I couldn't shake the fluttering of my heart, suddenly thinking that maybe caffeine wasn't the best idea when the barista slid the cup across the counter to me with a stock customer-service smile. I thanked her and continued on, making sure to pick up those two books first. I added the one with the whiny rich people and the short stories to my pile and headed for the check-out. I decided while in line that I'd read the one about the 4 American sisters first, seeing as how I'm a bit of a sucker for a period drama, just as a gut instinct. Not because that guy had suggested it.

Bad choice.

I spent the remainder of the night and the next day and night in bed reading it. Another bad choice. I couldn't finish it.

I'm not proud of this, so feel free to skip ahead.

I hit a point in the book that I couldn't read any more of it. Not another word. My reaction to this passage was so visceral- I was so lost in the book, that I forgot, momentarily, that my reactions could have consequences. "What the fuck!?" I yelled, and- here's where it gets really bad. I threw the book. Not just threw it. Let it go at full speed, sending a lamp crashing to the floor. I don't know what came over me. It was just an impulse. And I have problems with those. But that's not too bad, right? Wrong.

But first let me explain.

So, okay, listen to this. I just... I can't believe that Gale would let kids read this. The whole time, you're just... Let me break it down for you. The whole time, you're rooting for this this girl and her sisters and you know, it's the civil war, and they're poor, so everything sucks. But they're so smart and they love each other so much. But one thing after another happens and their dad gets hurt in the war and then one of them gets scarlet fever, so they have to send the other away. And their next door neighbor is rich and he's a really cool guy and he loves Jo so much. And she turns him down. But she goes away for a little while and gets her life together. And it looks like things are getting better. The dad gets better and Beth gets better. And Amy gets to go to Paris. And Meg gets Married. Then, and I'm sure you can sense by the way I'm rambling. She dies. She fucking dies, guys. This perfect little girl who fought her way back from the brink when she was younger just dies. And then Amy comes home and she's married to Laurie. The world sucks as it is. It's fucking hard enough. Couldn't this chick leave well enough alone? No. No, she couldn't. Because you can't have a happy ending in a work of fiction. They have to rub your nose in how harsh the world is.

And that's word for word what I said to them.

To whom, you may ask? Well, I'm not proud of this answer, but I was so distraught by the stupid fucking piece of shit book that I threw through the window that I may or may not have gone running downstairs and woke up Haymitch and Effie.

And by may or may not, I mean that I did.

Yeah. I did. I'm not proud. Luckily, my impulse controls have gotten better in the time since. Maybe. I think so, at least.

In a well-warranted huff, Effie crosses her arms, readjusting the covers to preserve some of her decency, as though she was wearing anything less than a floor length nightgown with long sleeves and a high neck. "I think you owe us an apology, young lady," she grumbles. And she was right I did.

But try telling me that. "Effie, for what? I can't." To look at her face, you would swear that I'd flipped the bird to royalty. However, I was determined to stand my ground and needed someone to empathize. "I can't apologize for this, but I will, however, apologize on behalf of Louisa May Alcott because... what the fuck?" It should be stated that empathy is hard to come by at 3 o'clock in the morning when everyone's sober or near to it and no one else knows what you're talking about.

Effie was proof positive of that. "Language, Katniss!" she squeaked, face maddening into a deep blush. Haymitch, however, was nonplussed by the whole scene, other than the general frustration at my waking him up so rudely.

"Alright, I'll apologize for that, too. I'm sorry, Effie, I'm just so..." I began, as I found myself being swept out the door. He'd wasted no time in ushering me past the threshold and into the hallway, closing the door behind me.

"Yeah, alright, sweetheart," he said, through the slightest opening in the portal. "You just have Louisa May Alcott call us in the morning. You'll have to forgive me if I don't hold my breath," and the door clicked shut. I'll be damned if I didn't hear the click of a lock.

I blinked a few times, trying to wrap my head around the whole thing.

Going back into my room, I straightened up the mess and sat on the floor, angrily pushing the mess into a box and staring at the floor where the broken lamp had previously been.

That night, I resolved that it was time to get my shit together.

The following morning, I took to the streets for a run. The early morning sun shone on the wet road. I listened to my heartbeat in syncopation with my footfalls. As I did, I became aware of another runner. They sounded like they were coming from ahead, around the corner. As they came into view, I pieced them together: ashy blond hair, icy blue eyes, strong jaw, big hands, nice build... and that smile. The was smiling at me. The same smile from the bookstore. I stepped right, narrowly avoiding a parked car and the footsteps disappeared behind me. I closed my eyes for a few steps.

So, he's local? It doesn't matter, Katniss, right? You're gonna get back with Gale. Don't go there. Everything happens for a reason. Panem et Circenses. Panem et Circenses. Panem et Circenses. Panem et Circenses. I repeated my little mantra until I found myself back in the house.

I decided that a shower was probably the only thing in order for me between then and my therapy session later. Good. I needed to freeze that blond out of my head first anyway.

I'm not accustomed to the feeling of going through the motions, but for whatever reason, that's what this was. I got ready, ate, and waited for Effie to come get me, since they took my fucking driver's license away, all with a strange feeling of distance, like I was watching myself from above, disconnected.

Eventually, she got home, beeped the horn twice, and off we went. I walked into the waiting room about 5 minutes before my appointment and headed right for the receptionist.

That's when it started. A familiar steady intro. "Hi, I'm...gonna fucking flip." I greeted the woman at the desk with a saccharine-sweet smile. "Are you kidding me right now?" She stared back at me blankly. I tried again, "Alright, is this song actually playing?" I gestured a finger in circles at the air, as though she could see what I was talking about. She shook her head a little, with pursed lips. "500 Miles by The fucking Proclaimers. Is it on right now?" I punctuated my sentence with a little thud to the desk.

"We do have music, yes," the receptionist answered with a curt nod.

That's it? That's all the answer she was going to give me? "Okay, if that's what's playing, can you turn it off?"

"I'm sorry, miss," she said, bobbing her head again with an enlightened tone. "I don't have the controls. They're in Dr. Aurelius' office."

Growing increasingly impatient with this entire session, I moved over to a fake plant. "Where are the speakers then? Is this..." I asked, picking it up and readying myself to flip it over and bash the plant over and over again, because that's where it seemed to be coming from.

I didn't get that far. "Miss Everdeen? Enough now, come in." And there stood my therapist. Great. It was a set-up. Wonderful. He gestured for me to follow him in and to take a seat. I obliged, knowing that it wasn't going to help my case any to protest.

Against my better judgement, I decided to just tell him just how uncool that was. "Well, that wasn't cool, Dr. Aurelius, I'll tell you that much. I'm not very happy with that and that really doesn't make me trust you very much." It was true. How could I trust someone who was using me as an experiment.

His eyes avoided me, almost like he knew that was too far. "I am sorry, Katniss. I am sorry about the song. I just needed to see if it was still a trigger."

"Well, congrats," I huffed. "It is. Happy? Because, I tell you what, I could have just fucking told you that." He scribbled a little in his notebook, and it dawned on me that getting angry with him wasn't going to look good. I folded a little, took a breath, and stated, as plainly as I could, "Look, I'm just going to tell you up front, I'm not taking any meds. I won't do it."

"You have to, Katniss," he rebutted, having none of it.

"No, it makes everything foggy, and I..."

He cut me off. "Not an option."

He had to understand that, for some people, they can't do it. The meds make everything worse. Even if they dull the problem, they start a dozen more. "No, listen, I don't want them. I'm not this person. I'm not. The violence isn't me. It's not." "If anything, it's more Haymitch than it is me. He got kicked out of so many Mockingjay games- he's not even allowed on site anymore." He blinked at me vacantly a couple of times. Maybe he knew the effects because he was taking them himself with that kind of expression. But I had to make him see. "I had one incident."

"And a near one with my plants?" He interjected.

"But only one actual incident," I answered, not having it. The plant thing wouldn't have happened if he hadn't made it happen. Granted, it could've been somewhere and sometime else, but he personally triggered this one. What if I'd gone off on his lovely secretary. I don't think I would have done that, but nevertheless, he couldn't have known that.

Voice calm and steady, he replied simply, "One incident can change a lifetime, Katniss."

"Don't I know it." I added. And that much was true. I do know it. I know what happened was wrong. I don't know if I'm sure it was as much my fault as everyone else seems to think, but I know I hold a lot of the blame. And I can own up to that much. "But I'm ready." He looked at me for a moment, as if urging me to speak more; to elucidate on what it was I was ready for. "I'm ready to put it all behind me and move on. I'm ready to take responsibility for what I did, as long as Gale can own up to his side of it."

"What's his side?" Dr. Aurelius asks, pen poised at the ready.

My face falls. "What's his... are you kidding?" He doesn't seem to change his approach, and just looks at me expectantly. I rubbed a little at the bridge of my nose, squeezing my eyes shut. "Let's take a little trip back to the incident. You see, I walked in from work to the same house I'd walked into every day for the last six years. And I'm early because I'd gotten into an argument with my boss." Any reaction from him is completely imperceptible. I might as well be talking to the white phrenology bust on the desk. As a matter of fact, I thought, that might make me more comfortable. So, I shifted my focus to it. "Well, I walk in the house and I can hear the shower running, and our wedding song- the one you so charmingly played out here today- is playing. As cheesy as it is, 500 Miles by The Pretenders was the song we danced to at our wedding. Neither of us liked the sentimentality of the traditional first dance. The lyrics were enough and it was more comfortable for us to dance around like lunatics like we'd done for years and years prior and no one would have expected any different. It was us." I smiled warmly. It was a little goofy, in retrospect, but we'd been friends since junior high. "We grew up together, you know. So back when boys were gross and girls had cooties, we were each other's exception. I wasn't a 'girl,' I was Katniss. He wasn't a 'boy,' he was Gale. That was it. We used to dance just like we did around my bedroom like it was nothing. So that's what it became. Nothing. Anyway, so- the 'incident.' Gale's pants are on the banister. Sometimes, I still need a trail of breadcrumbs to get the picture, but I'm sure by now you've gotten what I was getting. I mean- Fuck, our song was playing from the old radio at the top of the steps. I'm starting to undress, ready to meet him in the shower, 'cause it's such a sweet surprise. We always used to have sex in the shower but we haven't in a long time and it's gonna be great. And then I look down at my feet and I see it. A bra. And not mine. Mine was still strapped to my body. I leaned over and picked it up. Not even my size. So he didn't buy it for me. Through the music, I heard it." Dr. Aurelius motions for me to keep going, urging me into details I didn't even want to remember myself. "A woman's moan. Not a stupid fake porn-star one, either. An earnest, honest to god moan. There was a woman in my bathroom. I opened the door and found my husband- My Gale- in the shower with Clove, the gym teacher." I paused a moment, and shook my head, looking at my hands in my lap for a moment, and then back up to the doctor, my eyes welling up. "And do you know what she fucking said to me? She says to me, 'you should probably go.'" I bit down on the inside of my lips, letting them roll out slowly, then closed my eyes for a minute before continuing on to the details he seemed to really want.

With a sigh, I continued on, suddenly back in the doorway to our bathroom. "And that was it. I snapped. I pulled her out of the shower by her hair, slamming her head on the door as I dragged her naked, wet body out into the hallway and wailed on her. Screaming, crying... I beat the living shit out of her." I could feel the blood rushing to my head, just like it did that day, drowning out my thoughts, my hearing, my everything. The only thing I could see was this woman. This woman I'd exchanged bullshit pleasantries with at staff meetings and other faculty functions, never even taking much inventory of her. I had never been the jealous type, so it didn't really occur to me that that was going to happen. It took me off guard. "Gale stood in the doorway crying out something inaudible about wanting me to stop so we could talk about it but I couldn't. Everything unfolded so fast. I could feel my knuckles becoming bare and bruised. I was trapped in the moment and just... yeah." I stopped, just before the tears in my eyes began to fall. I felt bad. I did. "I knew it was wrong, but I couldn't help myself. My entire life's happiness had been wrapped up in him and here she was telling me that I should go. From my own fucking house." I folded my arms on my lap and laid my head on them, wishing for a better grasp on my emotions.

"All right, Katniss," Dr. Aurelius said. He seemed satisfied with that part of the story, if not a little uncomfortable with how fast everything came tumbling out of me. "Can you talk about something that you did, before or after?"

I took a deep breath to clear my head. As the tears stopped, I began speaking again. "Yeah, about a week before the incident, I called the cops and I told them that my husband and the shop teacher, Beetee, were plotting against me by... um..." I paused, having realized by now just how absurd it sounded. Gale loves Prim almost as much as I do. Previously, he'd been the only person other than myself that I trusted wholeheartedly to take as good care of her as I would. Still, it mattered to the story. I exhaled a pained sigh, not realizing I'd been holding my breath, "By building double exploding bombs to try and kill me and my little sister. Which wasn't true. It was a delusion. And we later found out that that was because I'm uh..."

"...undiagnosed bipolar," he finished.

"That's it," I nodded, pointing at him. Like I'd forget. "With mood swings and fractured thinking brought on by severe stress, which rarely ever happens, but then the shower incident happened. And everything snapped. So I realized that, huh, I've been dealing with this my whole life and without any supervision. I've been doing it all on my own." He looked down at my chart for confirmation, eyes widening a bit, then back to me, expression back to an imperceptible and trained blankness. "No help, no nothing. Just sort of white-knuckling it the whole time. And, as it turns out, when all of that goes down, I have a habit of forgetting to feed myself, so they had me diagnosed anorexic, but it wasn't like, a cognizant thing or anything. But I deal. I can handle it." I nodded. Wrong. Can't handle it. If I could, would I have been there? Hopefully, he wouldn't pick up on that.

"That must be hard," he asked, voice now a grating monotone, like he was fighting off warmth.

"Well, yeah," I shrugged. "But once you know what the hell you're dealing with, at least a little bit, it gets easier."

Sort of.

Not really, but at least if I said it out loud and someone agreed, it would start to be true. Right?


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: This is the shortest chapter and I'm really sorry about it. Hopefully. Basically, this and the next chapter were going to be one but it would have been way too long. This was the only spot I could conceivably cut it apart. Also, sorry about the delay, but SNL40 had me in stitches and I may or may not have completely forgotten that it was Sunday... So... Good night and have a pleasant tomorrow?

* * *

Sometimes, the only thing that can make you feel normal again is to establish a routine. So that's what I did. Wake up, breakfast, run, read, lunch, therapy, errands, dinner, read, sleep. Lather, rinse, repeat ad nauseam. Cool, right?

The very next morning, though, my run was continuously interrupted. I took my time, maintaining a normal pace as I passed the high school. No one should have been there, so there shouldn't have been a problem. And yet, there she was, getting out of her car and heading for the towering glass doors. "Wiress!" I called, making the sharp turn up the stairs. What luck. The school's principal, right in front of me. Maybe I could get something out of her in the form of a job. They'd been toying with making me department chair the day of... well, let's not think about that. But clearly she'd be able to figure out a way to get me back on payroll.

"Oh, God! Oh, God!" she whimpered, clamoring for her keys, beginning to shake. She seemed terrified of me. It took some of the wind out of my sails, but I guess I deserved it.

I maintained a calm, positive demeanor and continued. "Wiress! This is my lucky day! Look at you working on a Sunday! How are you?" I asked.

She seemed to be having none of it. "What are you doing here, Katniss?" she asked, taking in the full sight of me, as if to make sure I wasn't going to hurt her.

"I was just in the neighborhood and saw you here." She didn't seem to believe me, despite my honest answer. "Thought I'd let you know I'm back in town and ready to come back to work."

"You shouldn't be here," she said, cautiously, still not listening to me.

Just like that, it hit me how desperately I wanted to come back to work. That was really holding me back in feeling normal again. "I'll work full-time, half-time. I'll sub, I'll work music, I'll work in a different building if I have to, whatever you want." I took in the sight of the older woman, struggling with a stack of paperwork in the wind, fighting with her keys, and scared to death of me. Suddenly, Effie's voice was in the back of my head. Manners, Katniss! The phantom voice was 100% right. "Here, let me give you a hand. I'm sorry. I'm being rude." I offered my arms out to take the papers.

"Yeah, no. I got it," she said, hugging her papers to herself.

I guess that was a no on the whole thing. So, I decided there was only one more thing she could do for me there, before I left. "Well, then, look, I'm sorry. Let me ask you something." It was a long shot, but maybe, if I looked sad enough, she might just cave. "Just... let me ask you something. Does Gale still work here?"

A moment passed between us. "You know I can't tell you that. But Clove is still here."

There it was again. A steady, bumping four beat was fading in behind me. I shook my head and swore that it was just a car alarm or the blood rushing to my ears, I don't know. "Why would you tell me that? You know she broke up my marriage. Why would you bring her up? I don't understand. I just asked..." I felt myself getting worked up, and it scared me. I didn't want her to see me like this.

Her teacher-senses must have been tingling. Immediately, she changed the subject. "You know, you look good. You eating good? Working out?"

"I am, yeah. I did. Thank you," I replied, instantly grateful for the positive recognition. Finally, someone was seeing that I was really trying. I reached out to hug her.

"No, no no no no no," she chorused rapidly, trying to beat me away with her papers. "NO."

Taking the hint, I backed off, but I was still so charged from her acknowledgement that I felt, like a toddler, I had to show her everything that could have meant anything, looking for anything as small as a smile to keep me going. "I'm better. I just want to let you know, I'm better now. Okay? I'm better. I feel good. I feel so good. Look at my eyes. Just look at my eyes. Look at how clear they are." I gestured at my eyes. It was a little weird to me, still, to refer to my grey eyes as clear, but I remembered how they'd looked when I first got out to Capitol and it was the only way to describe these babies. "I'm not a complainer anymore. I'm positive, look." I smiled wide, a real smile.

I could see that she was a little overwhelmed at my persistence, but still she smiled, even if she did seem a bit sad about it. " You just have to give it some time," she said, reaching out and patting my arm. "You know, a lot went down. People will get over it. It'll be all good. It'll work out." She nodded a little. It wasn't much, but it was hope. A little spark of hope to keep the home fires burning.

"Yes! It will be!" I nearly-yelled, pumping a fist in the air, like those bozos down the shore. "I'm gonna take that as a silver development, Wiress! That's a silver lining!" I whooped, picking my run back up and heading down the steps.

"Good luck," she called after me.

Continuing on my way, I couldn't help but feel a little rattled at the whole exchange. Even past being apart from Gale, the lack of trust was wearing me thin. I picked up the pace and headed for home, down a couple of side streets, until I encountered a friendly face.

He was leaning over into the back of his car, but I knew it was him. He'd always had a very identifiable ass. Yes, it's that good. "FINNICK!" I screeched, throwing my arms around his neck from the back and leaping onto him. Was it fair to scare the shit out of him like that? No, probably not. But he'd have to know it was me with that type of greeting.

"KATNISS!" He yelled back, mocking me, spinning me around with ease and putting me down before turning to face me. "There's my little fireball! I didn't know you were back in town," he said, putting his strong hands on my shoulders.

I couldn't help but smile at my old friend. We called each other war buddies, but by this point it was more than that. He was an extension of myself. Two heads of a coin, yin and yang. Whatever it was worth, Finnick Odair was the same and opposite of me. He'd married his high school sweetheart, had a baby, done everything right. We'd known each other longer than we'd known our respective spouses; gone to school together from pre-k, got our first jobs together, wound up at the same college. We knew each other's every wounds, but we didn't experience things the same way. And I had, apparently, missed him almost as much as I missed Gale. For the first time, it really did feel good to be back. "Yeah, I'm out," I confirmed.

He looked me dead in the eye. "Out out or just out?"

I knew what he was asking. Did I skip out without doctor's orders? "No, man! Out out! Yeah, I'm free." I said, smile never faltering.

"That's great!" He said finally. He reached a hand for mine and spun me around. "So, what's this? You look great! You eating good? God, I almost don't recognize you. Man, you're a... wow." He hesitated on my frame for a while and then an unreadable grin crossed his face.

"You can say it. A 10?" I asked, hands on my boobs, making him laugh. "A fox?" I shrugged my shoulders coyly, sliding my hands down my sides. "A real looker?" I concluded, one hand firmly on my ass, the other playfully patting the underside of an imaginary bobbed haircut, all delivered with a playful wink.

He blanched. "Nah, man. I can't say it. Annie's inside and she might... well, you know."

And again, back to that uneasy feeling. Even with Finnick. What the fuck? We'd always played around like this, even in front of Gale and Annie- hell, especially in front of them. I guess, without Gale around, it would only upset her and that was too much to deal with. "Yeah. Yeah, I get it," I concluded, brushing it off for too much too soon, but knowing that wasn't really it. "So, how are you? How's things?"

"Good, good. I mean, work's been nuts. Can't get a second to breathe from that." He said, rolling his eyes dismissively. "And then Annie... she had the baby, so we're doing that and, um... you know, he's beautiful." He smiled. They'd always wanted kids but the timing had never been right. "You really should come see him. Annie wants to make you dinner, so why don't you swing by and..."

Ah. No. No, I couldn't handle Finnick lying to my face. "That's great, Finnick. Congrats on all of that, but I'm just gonna stop you before you make me buy the invitation. It was almost sincere. I almost..."

"What, you don't..." I crossed my arms and gave him a pointed look. "Annie doesn't hate you, Katniss. You intimidate her, but I mean, come on. She doesn't hate you."

That's certainly not true. I'm abrasive on my best days and always have been. Annie, however, is more like Effie- prim and proper. Those are 2 things that I've never been and never will be. "Yeah, yeah. I know she does, Finnick. You don't have to lie to me. It's cool." I shrugged. I guessed I should have been used to it 10 years down the line.

"She does not." He said, looking dejected. "How would you know? You never even talk to her."

I shrugged. I didn't have to talk to her, really. I was the one that was already in when she even showed up. Gale, Finnick, and I were sort of the 3 musketeers. I'm sure she must've felt like an outsider, and sure, I could have been more supportive at the time, girl power and whatnot, but I mean... I was a teenager, and all I saw was this gorgeous, feminine redhead taking one of my boys away from me. Going back to the brash reality of my friendship with Finnick, I still had some chiding to do. I shrugged, batting my eyes, feigning innocence. "Gale always said 'Finnick's wife keeps his social calendar where she keeps his balls.'" I swayed a little, adding some more protection to myself. Sometimes, it was good to be a woman.

"God, Katniss, really?" He hissed, turning back to look at the window, sputtering . "That's not... That's not..." He sagged, with a laugh, realizing we were in the clear. "Okay, that's a little true. But so what? Okay, so what?" He went back to trying to convince me. "If she really hates you, why would she ask me to invite you to dinner?"

Before I could come up with a rebuttal, Annie's top half was hanging out of a second story window. "Finn, did you ask her?"

He gave me a clear 'I told you so' look, and called to her without even turning around. "Yes, dear."

"Well, can she make it?" she asked. It would almost have convinced me I was wrong if I didn't have the better part of 10 years of once a month dinners, holiday parties, and various other get-togethers to back up my side,not to mention the tepid interactions beforehand.

Finnick made a simple hand gesture at me. "I don't know, yet!" He looked at me expectantly, and I busied myself digging the tip of my shoe into the dirt next to the curb. "Next Sunday, can you do it next Sunday?"

I hesitated for a moment, before resigning. "Sure." How bad could it be?

"Okay, good." He brightened back up. "I'll see you next Sunday!"

He headed back to the car, grabbing an economy box of diapers. I readied myself to help, grabbing a bag or two before asking the question I didn't really want his answer to. "Look, do you guys... Are you still in touch with Gale?"

As if on cue, Annie called out again. "Get in here please, I need you!"

"Okay!" he called, exhaustion creeping onto his face. I handed him the bags, closed the door for him and took off on my route.

With all the distractions, I hardly had time to shower and change before Effie was sweeping me out the door. She had gotten a call from Prim, who'd always been close with Annie's family, telling her I was having dinner with them. Having always been fond of the Crestas, Effie informed me that this was to be a big, big, big, big day and insisted on taking me shopping before therapy. I guess it didn't much matter what I wore, but I'd hoped it would be something simple and not too starchy and uppity. That's not who I am. Effie wouldn't hear of it. It had to be perfect.

And of course, Dr. Aurelius was having none of my shit that day, either. He laid into me hard about taking my meds after he'd called to check if I'd been taking them when, in fact, I hadn't even told Effie he'd given me a prescription last time. The same wouldn't work anymore. "Katniss, tell me something. Do you want to be back out in Capitol? Hm? If you won't take your medication, that is what'll happen. Or worse, you'll snap again and end up in jail." His sharp tone snapped me out of my staring contest with the phrenology bust, who I decided to name Leeg. I shook my head no. "Then what?" he asked, clearly at wits end as the session was coming to a close. "Just take them. If you adjust well on them, we'll lower your dosage."

I closed my eyes. "Gale's waiting for me to get healthy and get my shit together, and if I can just do that then he'll be with me." I smiled, reopening them and looking straight at him. "That's better than any medication I can think of."

He shook his head sadly. "Katniss, you have to be ready to accept that he might not come back to you." I opened my mouth in disagreement, but he didn't allow me to speak. "Katniss, there's a real possibility there. If you love him that much, you have to let him go and see if it works out. In the meantime, if the song comes on... Just, you need to not fall apart." I nodded. He was right. I couldn't keep falling apart. "Let's get you a strategy for that." He really did mean well, but he wasn't getting my side of the story.

"Just, hear me out here." I knew it was a long shot. I knew he wasn't going to like what I had to say, but I really wanted him to know where I was coming from. "This is what I believe to be true. This is what I learned at Capitol. You have to work your hardest and stay positive. If you stay positive, you have a shot at your silver lining." I sighed, knowing that not everyone felt that way. "My friend Johanna, who was in there with me, swears up and down that it's crap, but I really and truly believe it."

Again he shook his head, closing his eyes with a sigh. "Just work on a strategy, okay? Please."

I agreed and we bullshitted out some little ideas, counting, identifying my surroundings, cleansing breaths, other tedious crap for the last 10 minutes of my session. As I was getting up to leave, I remembered one thing I did want to run by him. "So, this isn't really... alright, so listen. My friend Finnick's having this little get together on Sunday night and it's gonna be some classy thing and his wife, Annie, is a real stickler for appearances and crap." I stood up, backing for the door, leaning against it. "I don't know... Effie got me this Brooks Brothers outfit she wants me to wear, but I have this screened-tee for my team that my sister, Prim, got me. It's not fancy but it's not beat up. It's just something that makes me feel comfortable and I think in this situation, that sort of stability is something I need..." I crossed my arms over my chest, looking at my feet. It was a stupid question. I'm a 28 year old woman. I should be able to dress myself properly, but since I've gotten home, even that is something I've begun to second guess.

"Which team?" he asked, as though it made all the difference in the world.

"Mockingjays," I muttered, unsure if it really mattered at all.

We looked at each other in silence for a moment. I was getting ready to turn and leave when he said, with a dead serious face and the most wonderfully comforting and mischievous glint in his eyes, "The Birds are the shit."

I smiled genuinely. "That settles that, then."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Hey guys! So, just a word of warning... this chapter is a bit of a bear, coming in at 7000+ words. So, um... I'm sorry about that. BUT! Backstory and stuff is good, right? Yeah. So... Enjoy! (Also, characters are making appearances in this update, so yay!) TW for psychiatric... stuff?

* * *

Sunday evening rolled around and I felt like I'd been through a war. All week, I kept up my regimen, with two added things: talk myself into going to Finnick and Annie's and nap. Why the nap? The added inner turmoil over talking myself into going to Finnick and Annie's. The deciding factor came Sunday, after therapy, before heading over. Effie let me use her phone to call Prim, provided she dialed for me and stayed in the room. Everyone was so concerned about my calling Gale, no one thought what it would do to keep me away from Prim.

You see, my little sister was in her final year of pre-med out at Capitol University. That's part of why I'd chosen Capitol; to be closer to Prim. It's situated in the Rockies on the top of a mountain in an old ski chalet. It's beautiful and cleansing and it's so easy to be positive there in the thin air. When they gave me the choice between jail and therapy, they gave me a whole bunch of options in picturesque locales there was Hob Center for Personal Evaluation and Rehabilitation, which was in the middle of a farm which seemed boring, but it was in the middle of Pennsylvania, so it wasn't too far and most people I knew could come see me and it wouldn't be too foreign of a setting from Seam City, and The Snow Group Complex for Individual Betterment, which I'd almost chosen. The Complex sits on a rocky beach in South Carolina and it seemed gorgeous, but their mission statement made me nauseous. Something about the purity of a rose and being tainted by the blood. Part of me feared that it was a scary Christian center and so I chose not to. There was also The N.U.T. (Neuroatypical Utopian Treatment) Farm, which is actually a series of tree houses in the middle of the woods in Washington State, but just the name sounded a little too Orwellian for me, so I decided not to look too far into it. Johanna had told me about it, apparently it was as local for her as Hob is to me, and she'd spent a summer there after a nervous breakdown when she was in high school. They'd threatened her with Shock Therapy if she didn't "snap out of it." She called her parents in tears, but they weren't home, so she ran away. I'm not gonna tell you anything about what happened to her after that, but part of me wonders if she wouldn't have been better off staying.

Speaking of shock treatment, by this point, I moved on in Gale's reading list. Part of me wanted to be amused at the fact that he'd chosen that particular play, and especially because he'd chosen the play, not the novel. Was he trying to cope with my being away? I couldn't help but wonder which of the patients he saw me as. All I could hope was that it wasn't the Jack Nicholson character, although another couple of months and a bathtub through the window might not have been a bad option. I could actually sort of see Johanna and myself doing it, then riding down the slopes in it. Probably wouldn't have helped prove our mental stability, would it?

Anyway, I don't think Haymitch and Effie realized that, even when she was super busy with school, Prim came to see me twice a week without fail. And since I'd been home, because no one would trust me with a phone, I hadn't spoken to her. I'm sure she understood. She's so unfailingly good. Still, it was really upsetting. She's the one person I wanted to disappoint least, more than everyone else combined. Take, for example, the incident. Everyone else was so disappointed in me. What was the first thing Prim did? She called Gale and read him the riot act for cheating on me. He could have gotten me help and stayed by me like she swore I'd have done for him were I able, but no, he left at the earliest sign of trouble. She'd always had him on a bit of a pedestal- the big brother she never really had- and he fell from that spot permanently when he didn't have my back. She swore she'd never let that happen again.

So, when I'd finally won out, Prim and I talked for a long time like nothing had changed. When I mentioned I had to get dressed to go to Finnick's, she caught right away that I sounded apprehensive. I explained my side and she said, "I don't see how that's any different than it's ever been. Except Private Pencil Dick won't be sitting next to you." I scoffed at her new colorful nickname for Gale, but she continued unhindered. "Seriously, Katniss, it's nothing new. It's dinner with the Odairs. There's nothing more normal for you. Why are you scared?"

"I just feel like it won't be the same," I answered, taking a pause, before adding, "Or it will be, and I'll still feel like something's missing."

In a fit of wisdom well beyond her 22 years, Prim offered a bit of wisdom. "Adjustment is hard for anyone. What if you're making allowance for things that don't need adjustment? Then, all you've done is displaced more stable things." I took her words to heart, and decided that I had to go. I had to try. We made Effie promise to let us keep up phone dates until she came home for Christmas and said goodbye.

I ran upstairs and shrugged on the Mockingjays t-shirt, and in a brilliant compromise, wore it under the sweater with the skirt and lace tights intended for tonight, shoving the frilly blouse deep into the dark recesses of my closet. I took a long look in the mirror, decided it would have to do, and took off out into the night. I swung into the state store for a bottle of wine and grabbed a bouquet of flowers from a street vendor on the corner and headed for Finnick and Annie's.

As soon as I hit their street, I was overwhelmed with an uneasiness that couldn't possibly be explained in text. I hit their yard and looked up at this huge house, identical to mine with Gale, back down at myself, back up at the house and headed back for the street. I hadn't even reached their driveway yet when I heard a new voice behind me. "How're those books treating you?"

A familiar set of piercing blue eyes greeted me, under neatly coiffed ashy blond hair. I took in the sight of the stranger and realized who it was, apart from the guy from the bookstore. "Peeta Mellark," I said, pieces falling into place. "My, how you've grown." I took a step back to take him in fully. Tight black jeans, fitted tee, leather jacket, we looked like an alt-rock video standing here together. "Still close with Annie, then?"

"Well," he stammered, as though he found his words rocked out from under him, "Her family pretty much raised me, so yeah, you could say she's more of a sister than anything else. You and Finnick still tight, then, Katniss?"

"Why else would I be here?" I asked, a little sharp.

He rolled his eyes flippantly, took the flowers from my hand and strode for the door, opening it and shutting it, leaving me glued to my spot wondering what had just happened.

A moment later, Finnick came outside, looping his arm around my neck. "Katniss, what do you think you're doing out here, punk?"

I shrugged him off of me and turned back for the road, before facing him again. "I gotta get out of here, Finnick."

His expression dropped, suddenly concerned, "Why? Are you kidding? Come inside." He said, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his Dockers, looking like a perfect family man, with the Izod polo and everything.

He might as well have stepped off the pages of Town &amp; Country, and here I was in lace tights and a t-shirt. Yeah, I had other clothes on, but for the way Annie was bound to look at me, I may as well not have. "I can't, Finnick. You know I can't," I whined, letting out a huff of air. "I can't go in there dressed like this." He stared at me like I was 17 and trying to explain polynomials to him for the 100th time. "Look at yourself then look at me. Think about what your wife's no doubt wearing. Then what I'm wearing. So, I'm gonna go."

Finnick merely rolled his eyes and hugged me. "You've got to be kidding me. Stop comparing yourself to Annie. You look great. I wish she was wearing something like this, maybe I'd feel less like I was a Stepford Husband." He began to usher me to the door.

I dug my heels in in protest. "I feel like a moron," I said flatly.

"You are a moron," he agreed, "but are you a comfortable moron?"

"Spiritually or physically?" I asked.

He laughed, looking me square in the eyes. "Physically, this time."

I suddenly felt even more idiotic. Who was I trying to impress? "Yes." I frowned, looking down at myself. "Annie's gonna be pissed."

"Shut up and get in the house, Mockingjay," he concluded, stepping behind me and plowing me into the steps, lifting me effortlessly onto the landing and pushing me inside. "We've got a Mockingjay in the house!"

From the kitchen, Annie's voice carried "An actual bird?"

"Yes, babe," Finnick answered dryly, brushing off my protests and leading me by the arm into the room with the others.

Annie held little Finn effortlessly, teasing him with the tail ends of her hair. "A birdy? Did daddy let a birdy in the house? Wouldn't that be silly? Let's see what daddy means," she cooed, bouncing him around, finally looking up at me. I was right. The portrait of domestic bliss- black, pleated skirt, unbelievably pristine white blouse for a new mom, rust colored cardigan, pearls and pumps, with a baby on her hips. "Oh, you wore a t-shirt to dinner," she groaned.

"Doesn't she look good," Finnick coached, "and comfortable. In our home." He nodded a little next to me, trying to get her attention.

She lifted the baby over her head and addressed him instead of us. "Not for dinner," she said, voice still in baby-talk mode. Cool. Yeah, Finnick, your wife doesn't hate me.

"She brought wine," he offered, taking the bottle from me and crossing to the counter, grabbing a corkscrew and popping the cork off, letting it breathe before dinner, leaving it right next to the flowers. Flowers. That's right, where had Peeta gone?

She smiled at me for a half a moment. "That's sweet," she said, turning to Finnick. "I still can't have any, breastfeeding and all, but if you three want some, that's great!" I couldn't see her face, but I can just tell that there was a death glare shot his way. Finnick didn't even turn around to look at her, but he hung his head. It was weird- I'd never known him to act like this.

Coming from around the corner, Peeta had already been put to work. "And here's the vase for the flowers." He turned his attention to me, fleetingly. "Hey." In the light, I could really take in the whole picture. He really was attractive, but that's not what I was looking for.

"Hey," I answered lamely, eyes fixated on a point on the wall next to him. He just laughed a bit, and turned to the flowers, cutting off the stems and chatting with Annie and the baby.

Finnick draped his arm around me lazily and guided me across the hall into their sitting room. Over the fireplace was a picture of Annie, the baby, and him, all dressed in white, sitting on a beach; The model of a perfect family. I rolled my eyes, remembering that our entire world thought he was this insane player and he played along with it, thinking it some magnificent game. What would the droves of girls who'd sworn they'd slept with him over the years say if they knew that this was his real life. He smiled at me, taking a sip of a beer that I hadn't even noticed him get. "We just redid it, isn't it nice?"

"It's gorgeous, Finnick," I replied.

He nodded, proudly. "Thank you."

"Seriously and you guys look so..." I gestured to the picture over the fireplace and came up short. Adjusted, right, perfect, Waspy? I don't know. Happy didn't seem like the right word.

Finnick didn't even hear me, I don't think, because he glanced over at the curtains and said, "I'm thinking of doing it again, I don't know,"

Shaking my head a bit, clearing out my own thoughts, I asked, "Wow, why?"

"I don't know, just playing with it," he answered.

"Are you guys that flush? I mean, Annie's at home with the baby right? So it's just you, right?" I sat on the edge of the sofa, crossing my legs and tucking my hands neatly between them. What a needless waste of money, which was always so hard to come by in both Gale's family and mine and, from what I remembered of Prim's stories, Peeta's, too. How fucked up. "You making bank?" I asked.

He smiled that million dollar trademark Finnick Odair smile, guaranteed to stop every heart but mine. "I do alright. I do. I do." I stared him down for a minute. He was hiding something.

Finally, I gave in, "That's great, Finnick. I'm proud of you."

"Thanks, Katniss. That means a lot," he said earnestly. And then he let out a gasp. "It's just. I'm under so much pressure and," he started to cry, folding himself nearly in two and settling in an ornate and inconveniently placed Queen Anne chair.

I could feel that my expression had betrayed my attempts at staying cool. I stood up, "Finnick?" As I reached him, he reached out and pulled me to him, burying his face in my shirt, sobs violently coursing through his solid frame. "Are you okay, hun?" I asked dumbly.

"No, I'm not. I'm not okay. I'm being suffocated here, Katniss." I looked down making sure he didn't mean literally. For all I knew, he could have started strangling himself in the ends of my sweater. "I'm drowning. It's too much. The family, the baby, the job, the fucking assholes at work, and it's like, you know, I'm trying to do it, trying to keep my head above water and I just, I'm drowning." For the first time in my life, I truly pitied him. He'd always handled his stress well. But everyone has their breaking point.

"Shit, Finnick. I'm sorry," I cooed, wrapping my arms around him, swaying a little. I'd never been great at comforting people, but I kept thinking about what I used to do for Prim after Dad, and how she comforted me.

"You can't be happy all the time," he sniffled.

That statement, especially from him, threw me. I stepped back and looked straight at him. "What? Says who?" The idea that you can't be happy all the time was unacceptable. What the fuck was I doing all that time if not aiming for total happiness?

"Come on, Katniss. You of all people get it," he said, eyes tinged red but tears no longer coming down his face. "You do what you can and hope it's enough. It's all you can do."

I squatted down, which in retrospect was probably not the best idea in that skirt, but what difference did it make, "No, Finnick. That's not it at all." My mind raced, trying to come up with a clear and concise way to phrase that that's not how it should be, and he deserved to be happy.

He stood up, guiding me with him. "It is, but I just have to get used to it." Something about that statement cut me deep, almost like he was directing it at the both of us. We stood in silence for a while, as he finished off his beer. Finally, he spoke again, "By the way, I hope you're okay with Peeta being here. It's not weird is it."

It wasn't weird in a way that he could control, just that he was literally fucking everywhere the last couple of days. "No, but what happened to Delly. They were married, weren't they?"

"She's dead Katniss," he answered, expression serious.

And suddenly, I was speechless. "What? She's... what?!"

"Yeah."

I couldn't believe it. Delly was always so happy and she was Prim's age. She and Peeta got married right out of high school, at their parents urging. My sister was in the wedding party, if I remembered correctly. "Holy shit. When?"

"A while ago, I don't remember," he answered.

"How?" He remained silent, eyes flitting up to the door and back to me. He seemed like he wanted to tell me, but didn't know how. "What happened to Delly, Finnick?"

"Just, don't bring it up. Please?" He said. Why wouldn't he just tell me? I mean, I guess it was none of my business.

"I won't, but seriously, how did she die?" Then, footfalls.

They had to have belonged to Peeta, and then he spoke. "How did who die?" Shit. Well, that's embarrassing.

"Peeta, you remember Katniss, my friend right? She's Primrose Everdeen's older sister. Katniss, Peeta," Finnick directed.

"Yeah, we're acquainted," I said, turning my attention to Peeta. "You look great by the way."

"Thanks, so do you," he replied, a strange vacancy in his eyes.

"Thanks." I thought about it for a second and suddenly, I felt that he had to know something. "I wasn't flirting with you."

Peeta shook his head a little, "Okay. I didn't think you were." He let out a tense laugh.

And there I go, making things awkward again. Fuck. "No, I just, I see that you look good and I'm working on being better at noticing and mentioning the little things." He smiled a bit at my rambling. "I'm trying. For my husband." There it went. That brilliant smile gone at the mention of a single word.

He squinted a little, almost like trying to shoot his gaze right through my eyes. "Gale, right?"

Huh. I didn't think I'd mentioned his name, and it wasn't on the reading list. All that said was 'Hawthorne.' Maybe Annie'd mentioned him, or maybe they knew each other, or something. "Yeah, Gale. I wanna make sure I appreciate him more, so we're gonna be better than ever. Just practicing." The conversation lulled, and, as usual, I spouted off the first thing that came to mind. "So, how'd Delly die?" Finnick grimaced. Peeta looked like I'd ripped out his still beating heart. New topic. "Okay, what about your job? You were up at that art gallery off Town Center, right?"

He gave me a look. "I got fired."

Man, I was off to a great fucking start with this guy. I mean, I don't know why I felt like I was obligated to not upset him, but I just didn't like seeing his reaction to the things I was saying. "Oh, wow. Why? I'm sorry. I mean, how'd that happen?" I asked. Maybe he wanted to talk about it.

"Does it matter?" No, apparently not.

Annie stuck her head around the corner. "Babe, how's it going?" I could almost hear the judgement being passed without even having to turn around and look at her. Simple words, sure, some might even say harmless. But not from her.

"Good," Finnick said. "Great, even." He'd always been a terrible liar. My guess would be that she didn't buy it either. "Why don't we do that tour now?" she asked, making it clear that that's what was happening whether or not any of the rest of us were interested at all.

"Let's just go see the house," Peeta said, eyeing me curiously and following his quasi-sister out of the room.

Finnick sighed, wrapping his arm around me. "Come on, let's let Annie give you two the tour."

Normally, I'd have been excited to see the house Finnick and Annie had worked so hard on, but something about the entire evening left me feeling disjointed- like I was missing some part of the equation. We traveled up the stairs. Annie babbled on about the baby's room, but I found myself locked on Peeta. He had such a bittersweet expression on his face. That went away entirely when he saw Finnick with the baby. He smiled brightly for about half a second and then his expression grew dark. His emotions weren't hard to read, but I found myself exhausted trying to follow the pattern. Next, we found ourselves in the master bedroom.

"I'm really excited about showing you guys this," Annie said, voice bubbling with enthusiasm. She gestured to a clear frame on the wall. I was stumped.

"Do you know what this is?" Finnick asked me, rolling his eyes a little. Clearly, he wasn't as jazzed about the mystery square as his wife.

"Just guess," she prompted.

"A TV?" I answered.

Peeta chimed in. "A computer monitor?"

"Nope! Keep going!" I looked over at Finnick who rubbed his hands together, up and down gesturing something to me that seemed more like a sexual act than anything that that box could possibly have been. Then, he pointed at me.

I shot him my best puzzled look before deciding he was molding dough. "Um. A pizza oven- a brick oven?" Before the words were out of my mouth, I realized that that wasn't it. In the bedroom? That would be cool though, I guess. Not for Annie, though. Finnick smacked himself on the forehead at my lack of effort.

"A light?" Peeta suggested. At least that made a little more sense than mine.

"Warmer, warmer, warmer," Annie said, drawing the word out. I glanced back at Finnick, who pantomimed throwing something in the air, then shooting it with a bow and arrow and placing it down on the counter, then the same with a gun. I shook my head, laughing a little at our pathetic game of charades. He then goes for striking a match and putting it down and giving some jazz hand type motion over it. Same with a gesture for a lighter. There was a time, believe it or not, that I probably would have figured it out by now based solely upon his insane movements.

"I don't know, Annie, come on," Peeta said, a little more sharply than he probably intended.

Our hostess whined, "Just guess, Peeta, please! Humor me." Huh. Interesting. A nearly 30 year old woman whining like a toddler to get her way.

Peeta grumbled a little, shoving his hands in the pocket of his jacket. "It's um... oh. It's a drawer like at the morgue where they keep the dead bodies cool and shit? Preserve them." He had my undivided attention now, despite Finnick's strange, fractured macarena.

"Okaaay," Annie said, clearly not wanting to approach the topic, "don't think so hard."

I folded my arms, daring myself to take his, clearly offhand remark, even the slightest bit seriously. "Where would the body even go? It's just..." I clapped my hands together, mimicking a solid wall.

"It's a joke, that's what it is!" He said flatly, over his shoulder to me. I nodded in agreement. He had me there. It seemed like this whole night was bound to be one.

"It's..." Annie hesitated, pressing a few buttons on the edge of the frame and giving a game show host like flourish, "a fireplace." Her tone made it seem like she was expecting a chorus of 'ooh's and 'aah's. Instead she was met by silence.

Silence, that is, until Peeta turned to face her slowly, asking as though it was perhaps the most absurd thing he'd ever seen "...In the middle of the wall?"

Disheartened, she led us off into the bathroom. I didn't even want to know what could possibly be so special about it that we all had to cram in to see. Vibrating toilet seat, maybe? Probably too wild for Annie...

"What the hell did that have to do with the macarena, asshole?" I asked, gesturing over my shoulder then pushing into Finnick as we lagged behind.

He looked at me like I'd personally offended him. "Stop, drop, and roll? Come on, Katniss, you're a teacher, for chrissakes."

I shook my head noncommittally, "That's debatable anymore." Finnick rolled his eyes and slapped the back of my head playfully before guiding me into the bathroom by my shoulders.

Annie didn't seem to notice that we hadn't been standing there the whole time. She was in the middle of describing what looked like a smaller version of the fireplace in the bedroom, with some sort of plug in the bottom instead of the ignition mechanism. "And we have a port in every room. Gimme your iPod," she said, reaching her hand out to me.

I froze, shaking my head a little. "I don't have one."

"What? Seriously?" she asked, as if I'd told her that I didn't have fingernails.

"Seriously. They won't even let me have a phone," I confirmed. "They think I'll call Gale. I didn't even get to talk to Prim until today." She narrowed her eyes at me, clearly taken aback. Maybe Finnick didn't mention any of my personal shit to her. Good to know he's still got my back, at least.

"Don't worry about it, Katniss," he said, patting me on the shoulder. "Don't focus on-"

I looked up at him sideways before shrugging. "They're right, though. I probably would try to." It wasn't like anyone'd given me the chance to figure out if I would or not on my own, so why not? Everyone seemed convinced that that was what I would do. Maybe they were right.

"Katniss, I'll give you one of my old ones," he offered. Old ones? I didn't realize that people still even upgraded those.

"Gimme yours, Finnick." He obliged. "Listen, I can play music for the baby in any room." She tapped on the face of the device and Brahms' Lullaby seemed to float in from all sides. Weird.

"Can you play some Nicki Minaj? Get our Anaconda on?" I asked, moving my ass provocatively, partially to get a rise out of Annie, and partially to get Peeta's attention. Finnick laughed, picking up exactly what I was trying to do, and seemingly appreciating it, even if his wife was probably going to come down on him for it later.

Success on both counts, I found, as Peeta lagged behind on the way out of the room. His gaze may well have been tangible.

We wrapped up the tour and headed down for dinner. Annie took a moment in the kitchen to grab the salad and bring it out as we sat down. And we fell into silence. Neither Peeta nor I seemed to be bothered by it. To be perfectly honest, I was just happy to be around people. Finnick and Annie, however, were unsettled.

After a few minutes, Finnick began fishing for topics of discussion. "Katniss was a music sub, Peeta," he offered. "Ask her anything about music theory and history. It's some rainman shit."

"Rainman was numbers, Finnick," I said. "I'm certainly not a savant."

Peeta added, "I don't think you can be with music trivia, anyway." I nodded. It wasn't really something to be particularly proud of, anyway.

"Same idea, though," he replied, maintaining that it was cause to be impressed.

"Not really," we said, in uncanny unison. We shot each other amused glances before going back to our plates. Finnick and Annie shared a similar exchange. What did they have to smile about there?

Finally, after a bit more prodding, I gave in. "Alright, here's a fun fact. So, you know The Beatles song Love Me Do?"

"Of course," Finnick nodded, gesturing broadly with his fork.

Annie added a flippant "Who doesn't?" Peeta merely locked eyes with me attentively.

"So, you know who played drums on the track?" I asked.

"Ringo Starr?" Annie offered, thrilled to be back in a guessing game."

"This is the best you've got?" Peeta asked, smiling coyly, clearly having understood that I wasn't through yet. "I've gotta say- I'm not impressed."

"Nope. On the version that everyone knows, the quintessential version, the drums were played by a session drummer, Andy White," I said, taking another forkful of greens.

"Huh," Finnick huffed, looking over at Peeta.

Across the table, Annie seemed genuinely confused. "Wait, really?" she asked.

"Yes," I confirmed. "And, on top of the lack of recognition, the poor schmuck never saw more than his initial session fee: £7."

Peeta pursed his lips and nodded, going back to jabbing at a tomato distantly. The room lapsed back into it's previous silence.

It seemed clear that this would never do. Thankfully, it was Peeta's turn under the microscope. "You know," Annie started, patting his hand fondly, "Peeta's been doing this dance thing forever. He's actually really good. He's gonna be in a competition at the Flickerman Hotel."

"Wow! Really?" I asked, looking first at him, but he was more interested in glaring at the woman who was not me- go figure- so, I addressed my comment to Finnick. "Gale likes to dance, too."

"Do you have to talk about me like that?" Peeta asked impatiently.

"I'm just bragging about you, that's all," she said. She really did have a childlike innocence about her sometimes. That is, when she wasn't squeezing the life out of everyone around her. "You're like my little brother, can't I brag a little bit?"

Peeta yanked his hand out from other hers, and crossed his arms petulantly. "Don't talk about me in the third person. Like I'm not even here." He paused, then added, "And I'm not your little brother."

She sighed wearily, "Oh, please. Gimme a break."

His eyes widened brightly, seeing her distress. "I'm right here," he repeated, edging her on.

"Come on, be nice," Finnick cooed. "Please," he asked Peeta before turning to Annie, rubbing her arm. "Relax."

"Huh. Fascinating..." I said, not realizing I'd let my inner monologue slip out.

Three pairs of eyes darted to me, as if suddenly remembering someone who wasn't a member of their family drama was watching. "Sorry, I'm not trying to..." Peeta apologized with a defeated sigh. "I don't want to be mean."

"I know, honey," she replied in a dulcet tone.

As if on cue, Peeta brought the attention right back to me. "So, what do you take?"

I jerked back at the question. "Like, recreational or?" The guys laughed. Annie, on the other hand, let her fork clatter loudly to the plate. I nearly expected her to make an exaggerated clasp for her actual, literal pearls. Yes, I was still stuck on the fact that a woman my age was unironically wearing pearls. "I'm kidding, Annie. Jeez." With all attention back on me, I finished. "Nothing. Nothing at all. I was on Lithium, Seroquel and Abilify, but I don't take them anymore. I was a walking zombie. Plus, I felt like a beached whale. But, now the fog has lifted. No more pills for Katniss." I smiled proudly.

Peeta nodded, edging forward and leaning on his elbows, much to our hostess' dismay. "I feel that. I was on Xanax and Effexor, but I wasn't as sharp, so I just stopped."

"You ever take Klonopin?" I asked, suddenly extremely grateful for his presence. I hadn't taken the time to realize how alienated I'd been feeling surrounded by people who didn't get it. Sympathy's great and all, but it's no comparison for empathy. If you haven't been there, you can't possibly get it.

He got it, though. "Ha. Yeah. Fuck... Klonopin." He laughed a little.

I smiled broadly, trampling right over top of the end of his sentence. "Right?" I asked, as though prompting him in recollection of a private joke.

"Jesus," he said, in clear agreement, tapping his fingers on his wine glass.

"Fuckin' 'What's my name again?' 'What decade is it?'" I droned, holding my arms out like Frankenstein's monster. I don't know why, but his laughter put me at ease. With a little more time, I probably could have told him my entire life story. Instead, I stuck to the topic at hand. I thought about the rest of the medications they'd had me on and focused in on the ones I could hardly even remember. "What about Trazodone?"

"Aw, man. Trazodone?!" He gasped and shook his head, looking down into his glass. "They threatened when they wanted to snow me after Delly but... fuck. No."

I made a flat gesture with my hand. "It knocks you right out," I said. "Nobody's home and they didn't even bother to keep the lights on for you."

"I bet," he replied, looking back at me.

Finnick and Annie shifted in their seats awkwardly. Suddenly, it was clear that we'd delved into inappropriate topics.

After a moment, Peeta took a breath, picked up his wine and downed it, standing up. "I'm beat. I think I'm gonna go."

Our hosts looked shocked. "No, wait," Annie clamored, "Stay! We haven't even finished dinner yet. Or dessert. I made your fave!"

"Annie..." he said, shaking his head and quelling her protests with a simply extended hand. "So, are you coming or what?" he asked expectantly.

I looked around, surprised. "What?" I stammered for a second, before pointing at myself uselessly. "Me?" Why would he possibly want me to come with him? I didn't even know him, really.

He looked at me incredulously, turning to face me fully. "No, Finnick. He and I have illicit trysts at night when we think Annie can't hear us." Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Finnick take a peek at Peeta's ass, pursing his lips with a noncommittal shrug. Annie smacked him on the arm with her napkin. "Yes, you," he answered again, as if I didn't pick up on his sarcasm. His eyes never left me for a second. "Are you going to walk me home or what?"

"You have no filter, do you?" I asked, honestly curious.

"Me?!" he laughed, bewildered. "You haven't said an appropriate thing all night. You scare people."

"I tell the truth," I rebutted. "You're just fucking mean."

Finnick looked between the two of us, then turned to Annie. "Maybe, I should... um... drive them home? Separately?"

She, however, was done with all three of us. "No. You can drive them both home. Now." She stood up, collected our plates and swept into the kitchen.

"I'm right here, Annie," he called. "You can stop talking about me in the third fucking person!"

Sticking her head back through the archway, she addressed Finnick, who was making his way back into the hallway. "You can take Peeta home first."

Peeta made a throaty noise, then walked right into the kitchen. "Oh, stop it, Annie. You love when I have problems." He grabbed her by the arm and stepped in front of her so she was looking at him. "Then, you can go back to ignoring your own and play out your little fantasy life up there in your ivory tower. You get to be the golden one again. Say it."

"No," she said. "That's not it at all, Peeta, and you know it." You could hear that she was on the verge of tears. Where the hell was Finnick? "I just wanted..." She sighed, letting the tears fall, apparently thinking it would be to her advantage. "I just wanted to have a nice dinner and I thought that maybe you two would hit it off."

"Oh, God," Peeta groaned.

"What is your problem?" Annie shrieked, clearly frustrated at not getting her way.

"Nothing's my problem." Peeta turned around, throwing his hands in the air. "I'm swell. I'm tired and I want to go." He clamped his hand around my wrist and gave me a little tug toward the door. "Come on, you ready?" I followed him out, though, to be honest, I didn't really know why.

"You're really just gonna go right now?" Annie called after us. Him, really, but us by extension.

"Yes, I'm really gonna go." He called over his shoulder, maneuvering us back around the table. "It's been great," he said, when we finally reached the foyer and Finnick.

"Okay, why don't we keep it down?" he said, pointing upstairs. "The baby's asleep."

"Sorry," Peeta whispered, that same bittersweet look washing over him. "I don't want to wake the baby. Bye." He patted Finnick on the shoulder and swung the door open, speeding down the steps.

Looking at me sadly, Finnick opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it and sighed instead. He tried again, finally settling on a simple, "I'm so sorry, Katniss." He pulled me into a tight hug.

He really had nothing to be sorry about in my mind, but I'd always thought it was weird to tell people not to apologize when they were clearly uncomfortable enough about what had happened to offer one. "It's cool," I said, dwelling in the closeness for a second, before pushing myself away. He clasped my hand tightly and sent me heading down the steps myself, waving at him over my shoulder and chasing after the near-stranger.

Peeta and I walked most of the way in companionable silence, only periodically asking each other fairly light and simple questions; him about my reading, Prim, where I'd done my therapy, me about if he got anything from the bookstore, what he'd done since high school, what he'd done in a past life to deserve having to deal with Annie for so long. We laughed a little, genuinely enjoying each other's company. It really felt good to actually have someone to talk to.

Eventually, we reached a house much like Effie and Haymitch's with a long driveway leading back to a two story garage. "This is my stop," he said, jerking a thumb up the path. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he locked his eyes on mine. "Look, I haven't dated since before my marriage so I don't even remember how to do this."

My lips parted a little. "Do what?" I asked, dumbly.

"I saw how you were looking at me. You were watching my every move. You felt it. I felt it." He cocked his head as I shook mine. "Don't lie. We're not liars like them." I nodded, secretly taking a little offense to that statement. Finnick wasn't a liar. Well, not to anyone but Annie, I guess, but still. I crossed my arms and looked at the ground, shifting my weight on the balls of my feet, suddenly regretting not wearing a heavier sweater or coat or something. "I live over the garage which is totally separate from the Crestas so there's no chance of them walking in on us." Walking in on us? I snapped my eyes back to him, suddenly picking up on his implications. Is this what Finnick was sorry about? Was this all some sort of set-up? Would have been nice to know... "I hate that you wore a football shirt to dinner because I hate football," he continued, unfazed by my reaction, "but you can fuck me if you turn the lights off." We stood together in silence again, but this time it didn't have the same feeling. This silence expected to be broken. "Sound good?"

After I finally remembered how to speak, all I could manage was "How old are you?"

Peeta sighed, shifting all of his weight to one leg, crossing the other in front of him awkwardly. "Old enough to have a marriage end and not end up in Bedlam."

Not a valid answer. "Look, tonight was great and you're awesome. And I'd be lying if I said you're not really fucking hot." He smiled, beginning to step towards me, reaching for my hips. I sped up my little speech. "But... I'm married," I said, pointing at the ring still on my left hand. He backed up indignantly. "I told you that from the start."

"OH," he said, throwing up his hands again. "You're married?" He asked incredulously, playing along as if I've relayed brand new information that somehow changed the game. Then his expression fell back flat, mimicking my movement and pointing at his own wedding band. "So am I."

"That's different," I said, suddenly confused by the comparison. "She's dead."

Suddenly, a wave of emotions cascaded over Peeta and all I could do was stand by and let it happen. The first to hit was hurt. It was clear I'd crossed a line; we both knew it. He pulled me close, needing the embrace. He took fistfuls of my sweater and a few unsteady breaths before releasing me, stepping back, looking me up and down. He chewed at his lip and suddenly, I found myself a little worried that he might hit me. It's not that I couldn't have handled him. He was strong and angry, sure, but I'm pretty well built myself. But, I couldn't do anything to protect myself. I didn't want to face any setbacks in my progress. He shook his head and laughed darkly. I smiled, hoping the ride might be over for now. Then, upon seeing that I was smiling, he clenched his fists into the front of my sweater, shaking. He took a few more breaths, almost like he was going to say something, and then the tears started. He released my sweater forcefully, pushing his fists back into my shoulders, sending me toppling backwards. I managed to catch myself on my forearms, but due to the slope of the driveway, I slid backwards almost a foot, leaving angry, red scrapes down my flesh.

"Ahh," I hissed, watching him turn toward the garage and storm away. "What the fuck?" I called after him, knowing all too well that he was sure as hell not going to answer me. Hell, chances are pretty good he won't ever talk to me again.

Good. Who the fuck needs him anyway?

Little did I know, the answer to that question was a resounding "me."


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: So, that was some dinner, huh? Don't get too angry at Peeta (or Katniss, if you so choose).

After the fiasco that was Sunday Night Dinner with Finnick and Annie featuring surprise guest Peeta Mellark, I found that it was way too early to go home, especially if I didn't want to be hounded about it by Effie. Seeing as how I was in need of some medical supplies, I headed into the drugstore in search of some peroxide, baby wipes, Neosporin, medical tape, and gauze. When I made it to the counter, the cashier eyed my arms and asked if I'd be using them right away or if I needed a bag. I told her to give me the bag anyway, since I probably wouldn't use all of it either way, and took the supplies out onto the curb. Not particularly sanitary, sure, but it would have to do.

I took off my sweater and surveyed the damage. There were a couple of cuts that probably could have used a stitch or two, but I decided not to bother anyone to take me to do it. If Prim, or even my mother, were around, she could have done it. Still, it didn't do to dwell on things that couldn't help me at the moment.

First, I cleaned myself up with the baby wipes. Luckily, most of the bleeding seemed to have stopped. I'd never been great with that stuff, even if I have "healer's hands," whatever the fuck that means. People have been saying that for as long as I can remember and I don't know. I'd seen Prim do incredible things with nothing for the neighborhood kids if they'd gotten hurt while they were playing. My mother used to help out when I was little. I even remember her, once, helping a young woman give birth. They had healers hands. Me… I've never been much of a healer. I'm more apt to destroy. So, anyway, I ripped off a piece of the gauze with my teeth and doused it in peroxide, rubbing it over the cuts roughly. Then I took another piece and did it again, this time letting the wounds soak. After I was convinced that they were clean, I put a coat of Neosporin on them and covered my forearms in gauze, taping up the edges to make sure nothing else got in them.

I looked down at myself with a sigh; torn tights, bandaged forearms, bloody sweater, I could only guess that my makeup was running down my face. I was a sight, that's for damn sure. Bloody sweater, right. I looked down at the sleeves and poured a bit of peroxide on them, scrubbing out the stain with a baby wipe. Pretty good, shouldn't even be noticeable after it gets washed. Then, just as a precaution, I took another wipe to my face, edging around my eyes and mouth, carefully. When I was satisfied that I was looking a bit less undead, I stood up and decided what my next stop would be.

My stomach grumbled low. Oh, right... still haven't really eaten anything. I looked up at the sign for the shopping center. The only food seemed to be a sandwich shop called The Hungry Grains. I walked in, purchased my meal at the counter, and sat at a table in the back corner, silently wishing for no one to walk in until after I left.

When I reached the house, suddenly exhausted, I was relieved, albeit a little saddened, to find that everyone had gone to sleep. I wasn't any later than I was supposed to be. I'd half expected Finnick to call and see if I got in okay, but I guess he'd been wrapped up in fighting with Annie. Oh well, didn't much matter, did it?

I went upstairs, showered, changed the bandages on my arms, and curled up, falling asleep soon after.

The next morning, I started up my routine again.

I dressed for my run and went downstairs. Breakfast wasn't as bad as I'd expected. Effie and Haymitch were both seated at the table. Effie passed the box of Special K and the milk down to me. Haymitch, never raising his eyes from the sports pages, grumbled "How was your date, sweetheart?" It may as well have been Effie who asked, since she was the one looking at me with wide eyes.

The question struck me. "Date?" What was he talking about, date? I didn't go on a date last night. I had a sandwich, alone.

My confusion left Effie disoriented. "Didn't Finnick and Annie set you up with the Mellark boy?" Mellark boy? Peeta, right. The arguing. What was supposed to be a meal with friends before all the blood and frustration. Right. How could I have forgotten?

I shook my head, dismissing the idea. "No. It was just a casual dinner." I shrugged a little, shaking the cereal from the box. "And we didn't even really get to dinner." I shoved up the sleeves of my sweatshirt up absentmindedly before pouring the milk, revealing the previously hidden strips of gauze. Fuck.

"What happened to your arms, Katniss?" Effie gasped, rising and crossing to me, grabbing my wrists before I could jerk them back and replace the sleeves.

I froze. How much should I tell her. It wasn't a huge deal and I didn't actually touch him, so I wasn't even really at fault, but I was sure she'd blow it all out of proportion. "Um..." I couldn't do it. How was I supposed to tell them the truth? They'd never believe me.

"Katniss?" she asked, growing more and more concerned with my silence.

"It's nothing," I said. I wished she could just let it drop. "Really, it's no big deal. I'm fine."

"Did you go see Gale?" she asked, grabbing my wrists a little more tightly. It was bizarre to see Effie like that, truly worried. She was normally so flighty that the serious look in her eyes almost knocked the wind out of me.

"No, it's nothing like that," I dismissed. The truth, Katniss. I took a breath, closing my eyes, and looked back at her. "I just, Peeta and I walked home together and I said something insensitive and he got upset and shoved me. I fell backwards and scraped my arms on the driveway." A look of shock crept across her face, and I felt like I was 12 years old again and broke a dish. I clamored to explain, "I cleaned it all up, though. I even got the little bit of blood out of my sweater. I'd still like you to double check it after I get it out of the dryer." I pointed in the general direction of the laundry room.

She must have taken my panic as a signal that I was telling the truth. She released her grip and returned to her previously calm demeanor. "Alright, dear," she cooed, petting my hair and going back to her seat.

I looked back to my cereal and let out a weak breath. I supposed the worst part was over. When I looked back up, Haymitch was studying my face. "He shoved you?" I nodded, and he let his fist slam the table a little too hard. "That little shit."

The best I could manage was a lame shrug. "I deserved it, Haymitch."

He laughed a little. "I'm sure you did, but that doesn't make it right, sweetheart."

Right as he was, I couldn't help but shake my head. I fought the urge to argue with him, but so often, he'd reminded me that I took more after him and his ornery nature than either of my biological parents, so I gave in. "I guess so." He nods, patting my hand awkwardly.

Effie broke the all-too-short, comfortable silence with a new question. "So, apart from that, was dinner alright?"

"I hadn't thought about it, really." She seemed a bit taken aback by my indifference. She usually talks about even the smallest social gatherings for days after. "Well, Annie and Peeta argued a lot, and Finnick and Annie argued some, so we broke it up before we even finished our salads." I said, stuffing in another mouthful of cereal.

"Wasteful!" she hissed, shaking her head.

We'd all experienced the effects of hunger. While Effie'd never dealt with it personally, Haymitch's childhood, like mine, had been fraught with it. She, however, had known the helplessness of watching it's aftershocks and hated how people bought and threw away perfectly good meals.

Haymitch and my parents had been friends from their childhood. He and Effie were named Prim and my Godparents. There was only a brief time when I didn't remember them being around, even distantly. After dad died, and my mother withdrew, I found myself desperate to keep some semblance of normalcy. I was old enough to know what would happen if word got out that we weren't being provided for, not realizing that it didn't necessarily mean the foster system.

After a particularly long week of stretching a box of Cheerios that I'd stolen from the corner store between the three of us, I suddenly got an idea. It was the middle of summer, and the heat was beginning to become oppressive on our inner city block. Prim and I made a game of scrounging for spare change on the way to the grocery store. We managed to scrape up a little more than two dollars. I made Prim wait outside, knowing my resolve would fade if she saw any of the food inside. If she'd asked for a candy bar or an apple, I'd have given in and bought it for her, putting us back to scratch. I went inside and purchased a few packs of Kool-Aid and a sleeve of paper cups. Taking Prim by the hand, we headed for home.

When we got there, I set off to work. The refrigerator was completely empty, and much smaller than many others, so I slid it closer to the door. I made a pitcher of the sweet red drink and put it in the refrigerator. Then, I let Prim help me fill the cups with a little bit of water and we put them in the freezer. We broke open the cereal box and I wrote "Kool-Aid $0.50 A Cup" on the plain inside and let her decorate it with her bright markers from Christmas. I made an effort to make sure we looked clean and happy. I neatened up my two braids and did Prim's hair up similarly, then washed both of our hands and faces. When everything was cold and set, we headed outside, just in time for the rush of city workers to come home. We sat on the step, with our little sign and an old coffee can for our money. I made sure to keep Prim laughing, knowing that if her smile made me feel better, it had to make grown-ups feel the same way. The first people we saw were a larger woman with 3 little blond boys. The oldest one I recognized from school, the youngest looked about Prim's age, perhaps a year or two older, and one in the middle. The little one pointed at us, clearly wanting a cup. His oldest brother reached into his pocket and handed him the coins, telling him that he and the middle one didn't want any. The little boy came over and greeted us, his big brother never more than a few paces away, telling us that he was "hot and thirsty and had fifty cents for a cup" with a bright smile and crystal clear blue eyes. He deposited them in our can as I turned away for a moment, retrieving the pitcher from the fridge and a cup from the freezer. No sooner did I avert my eyes did the mother pull all three boys away from us, yelling something about gutter trash and delivered a hard blow to the oldest boy, then an even harder one to the youngest. I clenched my teeth, shouting after her and offering the coins back. "Keep it," the little boy called back at us, lip hardly quivering.

I sat by, shaken, alternating stares between the family's diminishing figures, the coins in my hand, and my little sister in my lap. As I looked at her, I couldn't help but wonder how someone could actively be so horrible to their child. I glanced behind me, at the distant woman on the couch, and thought again. Where did how she treated us fall in regards to that wretched woman? Sure she may never have raised a hand to us, but was letting her children starve really that much better? I couldn't really afford to think like that. What good would it have done to compare different sufferings?

Lucky for us, we were situated fairly close to a subway stop. As the workers poured off the trains, coming up from the sweaty underground, many stopped to buy a cup. As the pitcher emptied, I sent Prim back in to carefully fill it back with water and bring another pack of the mix out to me. And so it went well into the evening until we were greeted by a familiar face.

"Uncle Haymitch!" Prim screeched, flying into his arms.

He looked between the two of us for a moment, putting the pieces together. "Hey there, duck." He grinned, swinging her easily up onto his hip, clearly unhappy. "Hey, sweetheart," he addressed me, kissing me on top of the head. "Hold on to her for a minute, keep doing what you're doing."

We heard strains of an argument flying between him and my mother. She called him a bunch of horrible names. He threw a bunch right back at her. She swore she'd been taking good care of us and he laughed the most terrifying laugh I remember hearing. He mentioned that one of his neighbors, a man called Brutus, saw "two starving girls selling fruit punch that looked like dead ringers for my god-kids." I busied Prim by letting her count the quarters out by twos, while I tried to ignore everything but how happy she was to be helpful. In our short lives, happiness had been so hard to come by, especially since Dad, so I couldn't allow myself to begrudge her this.

By the time we'd sold our last cup and counted up the money, over 40 dollars, I remember because it couldn't have been right- some people must have given us more than we asked, Haymitch came out of our house, with our school back packs from the previous year stuffed with, what I would come to find, was all of our belongings. He took us out for pizza and told us that we wouldn't be going back with my mom for a while, maybe ever. Prim cried a little, but said as long as she wasn't going to be alone, she could be brave.

When Haymitch brought Prim and I with him, we were emaciated. Those first few months, I couldn't get it through my head that Haymitch and Effie would never have let that happen had they known and that they would do everything in their power to make sure it never happened again. I'd stockpiled every little bit of food I didn't eat because it'd been so long since I could depend on food just being there. I did the same with money. Every last penny went into that coffee can, whose contents we didn't spend.

One day, around Christmas, when Effie found a box of cereal, a bag of potato chips, and a half a dozen granola bars in my closet, she and Haymitch sat me down on the sofa for a talk. "So, we figured we'd run it past you before we tell the little one, sweetheart," Haymitch said, putting his arm around me. "Effie and I have decided that, since it was in your father's will- do you know what a will is?" I nodded, remembering it was the thing that told my mother that my dad didn't want to be kept alive with machines and left her in control of his money and what he wanted done with his body after he died. "Well, since it was in your father's will that, if your mother was incapable of taking care of you, that Effie and I should be the ones to become primary caregivers." I didn't break eye contact with him, not sure what that meant.

Effie took my hands in hers, pulling my attention to her. "What Haymitch is trying to say, dear, is that we want to know how you'd feel if we decided to pursue the legal rights of taking care of you and Prim?"

"You mean, like we would never have to go back to my mom?" I asked, puzzled. She nodded. I thought about it for a minute. "We'd never have to fend for ourselves?"

Haymitch interjected here. "You'd never have to do that either way. Now that we know just what your mom," he cut himself off, clearly worried about upsetting me, "how she is," he corrected, "that will never happen again. No matter what happens from here, you and Prim will always be taken care of."

A satisfied smile crossed my face and I threw myself at him, the same way my little sister had done that night over the summer. Behind me, I heard Effie stifle a sob. I knew that my reaction had been enough- I didn't need to say it. Still, I felt that I had to, "Please don't ever make us leave," I yelped. "I love you guys." That night, for the first time in months, I slept soundly, knowing that we'd be taken care of forever.

Here we were, some 16 years later, and I'd put these two people who I cared so deeply for through hell. And they still reacted the same. They were more my parents than my mother had ever been. I sighed, looking at Effie with a sad smile. "I know, but it's alright. I grabbed a sandwich on my way home, though." The night hadn't all been a wash, and I felt obligated to convey that. She'd been so excited for me that I felt like I was letting her down. "But before that, it was nice, you know? Spending time with Finnick, and before I opened my stupid mouth and wrecked it with Peeta, he was really cool. We got along pretty well. And Annie was, well..." I struggled for the right words, knowing Effie's particular fondness for her. "Annie was how she always has been. The baby's cute. Everyone was smitten with him. The house is gorgeous. It was all so... normal," I concluded. In an abstract way, it really was. As normal as things could be for me, anyway.

We chatted idly for a few minutes, before Effie took away the dishes. Haymitch turned his attention to me. "So, what are you up to today?" he asked.

"Same as usual," I shrugged, getting up and stretching.

"Even with your injuries?" Effie queried.

I laughed a little, alternating my arms over my head. "I can still run with scraped up arms, Effie."

She didn't seem to be convinced, but when I kissed her on the cheek on my way out the back door, she acquiesced, with a frustrated "Alright."

That was it. Little to no unnecessary prodding. It was almost normal. I guess showing them that I can handle stress, altercation and taking care of myself was all it took. I don't know how I would have done that otherwise, but it was nice to know that it worked.

After breakfast, I headed out on my run. I stuck to my normal path, even though I knew that, now, I had a bit of a hitch. Peeta's place is right in the middle of my run. Despite the potential for an awkward run in, I decided to stick to the routine. It hadn't failed me yet, so what good would changing it now do?

I took off into the morning sun, acclimating myself to the unfamiliar burn in the scratches, mimicking the pound of my pulse in time with my footfalls. As soon as I did so, I zoned out, a little bitter that Finnick hadn't offered to give me one of his iPods before I left. Music really would have helped out here. The mid morning sun began to burn off the chill and I pushed the sleeves of my hoodie up over my elbows.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of a familiar strong blond man. "Hey!" he called after me, quickening his pace to catch me. I turned my head and suddenly found Peeta immediately at my side, causing me to nearly run into a parked car.

"What the hell?!" I barked.

He seemed shocked but a little too pleased with himself when he noticed the gauze between my wrists and elbows. "What happened to your arms?"

Dare I frustrate him with my sad attempts at humor? But what would I say when he clearly knew the answer? Botched suicide attempt? Too touchy. "Cat scratches," I said, thinking suddenly of Prim's feisty old cat, Buttercup. Personally, I'd always hated the thing and never would have let it near enough to scratch me, though it would have done wonders on Peeta's smug little face.

"Not likely," he grinned. Bastard. "So, why'd you run past my house? Did I do something to upset you last night?" he asked, clearly trying to pick a fight.

"This is my normal route, okay?" I thought about it for a second, thinking it might be good to clear the air. If I did, we might have a pretty decent shot at this friendship thing. "But I did want to..." he looked at me, almost daring me. I could swear that he already knew what I wanted to say. I took a few more steps, trying to gather my thoughts. "Fuck it," I said, throwing all pretense of a blank slate.

"This is my neighborhood." I don't know why he felt that was necessary to claim. Like, no shit, I'm more intimately acquainted with the fucking gravel outside your house than I am with you, asshole. "That's my house," he gestured over his shoulder, in the general direction of where we'd come from.

"I know that now!" I groaned, unmoved. I have a stubborn streak a mile wide, and this was something I wasn't going to give up on. "But this is my normal route. I've run past here every day since I've been back." Clearly, this wasn't going to get anywhere without being explicit with each other. "I don't like company when I run."

"Okay," he answered, pace unchanging. He bobbed along beside me, a mischievous grin playing at his lips.

I groaned, speeding up, pushing my own limits. He followed easily. Fuck, I forgot, he dances. He's gotta have stamina. I pushed myself a little harder. He sped up effortlessly. "Would you quit it?" I asked. My voice came out surprisingly close to a whine, partially from frustration but mainly because it was the only way sound would come out at this pace.

"What?" he panted. Yes, panted. The breathlessness in his voice was not lost on me. He was pushing himself harder than he wanted me to believe. Good. Maybe I could win this yet. Win what, I couldn't tell you, but it certainly seemed like a contest of some sort to me.

"I'm running here!" I said, willing my voice to be a bit more steady.

He grunted a little. "What the hell do you think I'm doing- Baking?" The fury in his face was, admittedly, a little too satisfying.

"Just..." I panted, running out of ideas. "Why don't you run somewhere else? There's a metric shit ton of other places. Isn't there a park up the road? Why don't you run there." It wasn't a reasonable suggestion, I knew that, but still. A girl can dream, can't she?

"I like this road, thanks," he said, quickly adding, "You go run in the park."

I took off at a rapid pace, hoping to lose him, cutting through an alley and coming out on the next street, but found myself cut off by Peeta. "Come on!" I yelled, jumping up and down a little. The action felt good, but I realized I must have looked like a petulant child.

He looked at me sideways, slowing down. "Christ! Calm down, psycho," he said, throwing his hands up.

It was the simplest of actions, yet paired with the statement, it rubbed me in a million wrong ways. I rattled back into my sinuses, suddenly grateful that I'd picked up some terribly unladylike habits from Gale and Finnick back in the day, and spat at Peeta's feet. He wasn't impressed by my vile display and shot one right back at me with ease. I took back off and almost instantly felt Peeta's absence as I sped around a corner and out of sight. "Hey!" he growled, filling the space back up "I wasn't done talking to you."

"What the fuck?!" I shouted at no one in particular, before shooting over my shoulder, "I'm married!"

"Me too!"

I rolled my eyes unapologetically. "Your wife's dead, asshole!" He should have gotten in the last day that that argument wasn't cutting it with me.

"Oh yeah?" he laughed. "And just where's your precious fucking husband?" he asked. It would be a valid question, I supposed, if it didn't piss me off so much.

"You're nuts," I guffawed.

He caught up to me again. "I'm not the one that was admitted and I'm not the one with the bandaged up wrists," he said, pointing at my arms. Maybe he'd have bought the suicide quip after all. Huh.

"At least I don't try to fuck everything with a pulse!" As soon as the words left my lips, I regretted them. His footfalls slowed to a stop. I circled back, finding him doubled over, hands on his knees, panting hard. If the exercise hadn't knocked the wind out of him, my unfeeling words did the trick. I knew it was a low blow, taking a jab at someone's sex life. I mean, hell, I'd grown up with the whispers. I knew how the comments about mine had affected me. I saw how they affected Finnick. It didn't matter whether the recipient of the comment was a man or a woman, being called, for all intents and purposes, a whore hurt. It was a cheap shot. I slowed to a stop, not daring to get to close to him. Deep down, I knew he wouldn't intentionally hurt me, but I didn't want to risk another physical altercation. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. That was..."

"Yeah," he interrupted, crossing to me. "Easy to say sorry, huh? You cut everyone who could possibly put up with you to shreds when all they fucking do, or at least want to do, is give you a boost." He dug his fingers into my shoulders lightly and I took a few steps back, not wanting a repeat performance of last night's argument in the middle of a strange street. "Yeah," he huffed, "I turned to sex to cope. But I wasn't hurting anyone by doing that." Whether he meant physically or emotionally, it didn't matter. He was clearly throwing punches at me. Maybe he knew more about me than he let on. But how? Nevertheless, he continued. "There's always gonna be that part of me that's sloppy and dirty, but I like that, with all the other parts of myself. Can you say the same about yourself? Can you forgive?" He grabbed the front of my sweatshirt and pulled me closer, looking intently enough at my face that I could have sworn he was boring holes into my skull. "Are you any good at that?"

I looked down, panting. And there we stood, for what could have been a minute or an hour, sweating, flushed, exhausted. When I didn't respond to him at all, he took off back in the direction of his house. I spun uselessly in a circle, before continuing on my loop, deciding that it was better for both of us if I didn't follow him.

"Now, where the fuck am I?" I asked myself.

The next morning, I headed out, sticking to my regular pattern, slowing down a little when I passed Peeta's house. "Hey!" came his voice from up the driveway. It was pretty clear that he'd been standing in the doorway waiting for me to run past, but I couldn't really prove it.

"Are you stalking me or something?" I asked, with absolutely no malice intended; a complete turnaround from the day prior.

"I could ask you the same!" he protested, clearly not picking up on my harmless intent, which was fair, I supposed. I just didn't want to fight anymore. Not with him. Not with anyone.

I smiled a bit. "How do you know when I run?" I asked playfully, deliberately slowing down a little for him, not wanting to take him for the same ride as yesterday.

"I just wanted to clarify something," he said, coming to a stop, reaching for my hand as a gesture for me to do the same. When I did, he dropped it. "I just wanted to be your friend. Nothing more, nothing less." I cocked my head, listening to him intently. He seemed to be speaking my mind for me. "I offered sex because I was stressed and thought you might have wanted the release same as me. But I just want to be friends." He grew silent, as though expecting a response. "Are you listening to me?" he asked, snapping his fingers in my face. I didn't break my gaze at him. Of course I heard him. That was what I'd wanted the whole time. It's clear he wants me to say something, but I've never been very good at saying something. Instead, I know exactly what to do. I just hope he's up for one more stretch of the legs. With my decision firm, I take off, willing him to follow me. I haven't taken more than 3 steps when I hear him start with a groan. I smile privately and take a sharp turn down a more populated street and come to a halt about a quarter of a mile up the road in front of a shiny silver building. "Why are you giving me such a hard time here?" he pants when we've stopped.

"I'm not giving you a hard time," I said with a smile. I point up at the building, calling his attention to where we are. Sae's Diner. "Do you wanna have dinner here with me tomorrow night?"

He took a minute to digest it all. First, he looked at the diner, then me, then up at the sky, before looking back at me incredulously. "Meet me out front of my place at 7:30," he said, looking for a moment like he doesn't believe he's actually agreed to it, before taking off again.

I smiled to myself, wondering what I've just gotten myself into.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I didn't forget about you all! Glad to have picked up some new friends here. Hi, all! So, I head home from vacation tomorrow. The next update might be a touch delayed, but I wanted to make sure I get this up here tonight. :D As always, reviews and follows are GREATLY appreciated. So, without further ado- chapter 6!

The entire walk to Peeta's seemed to take way longer than was absolutely necessary. I fretted over everything: Dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, would I be under dressed? What if we have nothing to talk about? What if we fight? What if, what if, what if?

All those questions fell away when he walked down the driveway.

"You look great," I said, knowing that the words didn't do him justice. Sure, he was dressed casual, too-tight jeans, plaid button down over a tight fitting t-shirt, and a beanie and, I'd almost swear he was wearing eyeliner, but still, on some people, less is more. And, in this instance, Peeta was too much.

"So do you," he replied, almost reaching out for me, then stuffing his hands deep down in his pockets.

We made small talk as we walked to the diner. An older woman led us back to a corner booth, and we both sat down. She handed us the menus with a curt, "Here you go," waiting for our orders.

"Thank you," Peeta said, a friendly smile on his face.

Well, with him there in front of me like that, I needed some sort of reminder to myself and him that this is not a date. Especially him, if he's going to keep that goofy look on his face. What's the most non-date-like food I can think of. Soup. That's it. "I'll just have a bowl of soup, thanks," I say, handing the menu back.

"Cream of chicken or vegetable," she asked, the familiar tone of annoyance of a waitress who can tell that a table's not going to be worth much to her.

"The chicken," I answered.

Eyes never leaving mine, Peeta said, "Tea, for me, please," handing his menu back. He was truly unreadable at the moment.

Thankfully, the woman wasn't gone long. "Soup." She placed the bowl down, turning to Peeta and putting his cup down. "Tea." If it wasn't 100% impossible, I'd have sworn I heard her eyes roll.

"Do you want to share this?" I asked, gesturing between Peeta and the soup.

"Why did you get Cream of Chicken?" he asked, grimacing. Whether it was about the soup in general or the specific kind, I don't know.

"Why did you get tea?" I replied defensively.

He shrugged. "Because all you got was soup."

"Well," I said, leaning back against the booth a bit, "I just wanted you to know that this definitely wasn't a date."

Peeta squinted, trying to figure me out. "Because you ordered soup?"

"Well, yeah," I said, suddenly aware of how stupid the whole thing sounded. It just felt like I needed him to be fully aware that this wasn't that. Whatever it was, it wasn't a date. Not that he should think it was, anyway, or that I had any reason to believe he was interested at all.

"It could still be considered a date either way," he said, after a moments silence. I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off. "But I get it." Okay, he was just stating a fact.

"So, how's your dance thing going?" I asked, trying to get the conversation back to something that didn't make me feel like a fool.

"Good," he answered. That's it? Good? Okay. I readied a follow up question, but didn't get to it. "How's your restraining order?"

My thoughts fell away. "How did you..." I asked, deciding, instead that I didn't want to know. "Well, that's not exactly the type of thing I was talking about, but, um, I guess it goes along with my getting back with Gale, so I'll accept it." I let out a puff of breath. "It's pretty good. Except a close call at the doctor's office..." True. I thought. I'm not lying. But there was one more thing. "And I got into a bit of a scrape with some jerk over my big fucking mouth," I added, moving my, now unbandaged, forearms into view, looking at him pointedly.

Seeing my injuries brought a slight pink tinge to his cheeks. "I'm sure the douche bag deserved it," breaking eye contact with me for the first time since we sat down. The moment he did, I wished he'd look back at me.

"Nah," I said, shaking my head. "I just wish there was some way I could get all of this to Gale. Like write it all down and explain that I'm not out of control and doing well." I smiled. No harm, no foul.

"I could get a letter to him," Peeta offered, looking back to me. Apparently, I must have looked seriously confused, because he elaborated. "I see him sometimes at Annie's..." When I didn't answer, he added "With Finnick, of course."

II let his words sink in, then declined. "I couldn't ask..."

"You're not really asking. I'm offering..." he interjected, a fond, soft expression crinkling at the corners of his eyes.

"That would..." I stumbled, losing my sense of speech momentarily. "Wow, that would be incredible! Thank you.!"

"Annie couldn't know. She's a law abiding girl and this definitely isn't that..." He shook his head, realizing the implications of helping someone break a restraining order weren't great.

"You don't have to," I offered, earnestly, trying to make it clear that I didn't want to make him uncomfortable.

"I'd just have to be careful," he dismissed. "Annie's parents are already out on a limb for me and my parents... well, they're not exactly supportive." Peeta took a moment, then laughed a little."You should hear how I lost my job. My mother flipped shit."

"What happened?" I asked.

He took a noisy sip of his tea and shrugged. "I slept with everyone at the gallery."

"Everyone?" How could he make a claim like that so nonchalantly? That's not necessarily an early on statement to make. Did he really trust me that much?

"Everyone. I was a wreck after Delly," he confirmed, dragging his finger around the lip of his cup. "It was a lot of people."

"We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," I said, even though I found myself desperately wanting to know every detail. Not just about the sex- though that was where I dwelt.

He seemed to dismiss my courtesy, preparing himself for the impending barrage of questions. "Thanks," he said.

"How..." I worried for a moment about how to word this so that it didn't seem like I was judging, simply curious. But there was really no other way to ask. "How many people?"

"Eleven," he said. He didn't even seem shocked by it himself.

"Wow," I replied. Eleven. Eleven since his wife died. At least. And here I am with one, only ever having kissed 2 others. "I'm not gonna talk about it anymore, I'm sorry," I said. My eyes flitted away, ashamed at the fact that I was even interested.

It didn't seem to matter to him one way or the other. If I had questions, he didn't seem like the type to withhold. "Okay."

I closed my eyes for a second and my mind was suddenly flooded by images of Peeta and- no. He couldn't have meant that, could he. "Can I ask you one more thing?" He looked up at me with a grin, knowing the next question was coming. "Were there any guys?"

He left me hang for a moment, taking his lower teeth for a minute- teasing me. "Yes."

"Really?" I didn't mean to second guess him, but I didn't think guys fooled around like that, too. I knew a lot of girls did, but guys too?

"Yes," he answered again, smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"What was that... Um..." My tongue grew thick in my mouth. I felt my pulse start to quicken. Stay cool, Katniss. "What was that like?" I asked, leaning in close over the table.

He mirrored my action and lowered his voice, hardly a whisper now. "Hot."

"Jesus. Like, older... Older guys?" I couldn't help but smile. I would have been lying if I'd said that I wasn't attracted to Peeta- he was hot. And hearing him own his sex life like that... It might have been a problem. Still, I urged him on. "Like a hot for teacher type of-"

"Made me sit on his lap and do things?" He filled in the blank my mind had left in compensation for the sudden rush of hormones. He nodded. "Yeah."

My eyes nearly bugged out of my head. "What? You... um." Calm down, Katniss, you're in public, I urged myself. "You sat on his lap?" I asked, as calmly and plainly as if I'd asked him if he sat inside of a car to drive it.

"Mhm," he hummed.

"And he told you what to do?" I couldn't believe myself. It was almost like I was sitting on the ceiling watching the whole pathetic scene unfold. Me sweating like a sinner in church and him edging me on. I sort of wish someone had been there to dump cold water on me.

Still, Peeta didn't seem to mind. He simply "Mmm-hmmm"'d again, clearly enjoying watching me all hot and bothered.

I let his story sink in for a while, before settling on an intrigued, "Oh. Oh... my god." But I couldn't get ahead of myself. This wasn't that. It wasn't even porn. I had no right to get turned on by this guy's stories. "Gale hated when I talked like this... made me feel dirty and wrong." I studied a chip on the edge of the bowl containing the soup and brought myself back to reality. "Maybe we should change the subject," I said.

And yet, he didn't seem bothered. "I don't mind. Sex is a perfectly healthy topic." He poised his cup at his lips, peering over it at me. "You should never feel dirty for exploring your sexuality and what really gets you going."

I took him in. I'd heard women say that. I'd read it magazines like Cosmo. But this context was different. He wasn't saying it for a reaction. It wasn't clinical, but it wasn't personal either. He wasn't saying that either of us were the exception. He just stated it as plainly as if he'd told me his eyes were blue. "You really feel that way, don't you?" Peeta really was an extraordinary guy.

The question seemed to sadden him. "Yeah. But not everyone does." He put his cup down and zeroed in on a point in the middle of the table. "And there were fights at work. A lot. So the boss called me into his office and tried to pin it all on me." He looked up at me, eyes a little watery, but more annoyed than anything else. There was no denying that every word he was about to say was true. "He said he'd handle it if let him have his way with me. But that's not the way it goes. He pinned me against the desk and, when I accused him of harassment, it was his word against mine and, my track record being what it was, they fired me. Sent me home and put me on some meds." He kneaded absentmindedly at the table, the motion of his hand seeming to distract him. "My mother wasn't happy that her 22 year old son was back living at home, especially when he'd practically never lived there as soon as he had friends who would let him spend the night, so she spent the first week beating the living shit out of me, Annie saw the bruises, called her parents," he let out a tense laugh and rapped his knuckles on the table, "and there's the story of why I live over Annie Cresta's parent's garage." He gave me a sideways smile, but said nothing more.

As it all sunk in, I couldn't help but feel sorry for him. The man in front of me was in no way deserving of that story. But who is, really? "That's rough," I said. My attempt at consolation was lame at best, and I knew it.

I didn't know why, but I felt like I had to share a story of my own. It wasn't like he asked. I didn't know if he would even care. But, it just felt right to open up to him. "For me... The song that was playing when my husband... was in the shower with the gym teacher..."

He took a concerned breath. "I heard about that." Mentally, I added 'better at active listening' to a sudden mental list of Peeta's virtues.

"Yeah," I continued, nodding, "it was my wedding song, 500 Miles by The Pretenders... You know, 'and I would walk 500 miles and I would walk 500 more,'" I clarified, singing the last little bit lowly.

Peeta's eyes lit up when I sang, though it didn't seem to be in recognition. "Yeah, I know the song."

It was unfortunate, really. I pushed back against the booth, tucking my legs up under me and picking up my napkin, ripping away at the corner. "Well, when I hear it now, I go kinda crazy. Sometimes I hear it when it's not even playing."

"Wow," he said. It wasn't sarcastic or bored, but actually genuine.

I couldn't bring myself to look at him. Instead, I focused on the movement on my fingers as I annihilated the paper. "Yeah. So they put me on medication, which I'm a little, well, more than a little ashamed of."

"Yeah," he said, understandingly.

"So," I said, finally looking back up at him. "I get you."

"Yeah," he nodded sadly.

We sat in silence for a minute, neither of us knowing what to say. I continued ripping the napkin into a depressing, brown confetti. He continued kneading at the table. Finally, I remembered what Dr. Aurelius said about strategies. It wasn't clear to me then, but somehow, I knew that Peeta had to be a part of it. "I just need a new strategy, that's all."

He looked at me, a light back in his eyes. "Me too," he agreed.

First, though, we had a task. "Maybe we should get back to the letter," I suggested, hoping he wasn't going to back out on me.

He nodded encouragingly, "Yeah, let's do that."

I had an idea for how to get all of this accomplished without getting Peeta in trouble with Annie. "What if you gave it to him while Annie and Finnick are in the other room?" As soon as the words crossed my lips, I regretted it. Obviously, he could have come up with that much on his own.

Still, he smiled encouragingly. He really wanted to help. "That could work. I love that," he said. Sometimes, the people who've experienced the worst things try the hardest for other people. And that's Peeta. Somehow, I thought, that it was great that that was him because it could never be me.

Suddenly, I was overcome with a charge of energy. I knew exactly what I wanted to say; just the right words for Gale. "Oh my god, I'm gonna go," I bounced a little, sliding off the vinyl seat and standing. "I think I should write it now. You know, while it's all right here," I gestured at my forehead. I ran the form over in my mind. I should start with some flattery, tell him how far I've come, tell him about all of the cool ways I'm overcoming my anxiety, tell him how I've missed him, own up to what I've done, simply asking him to own up to his part in it... Yes, that would be great. I turned to the door.

"Can I at least finish my tea?" Peeta asked.

I turned back to him, perplexed. "Wait, what?" Peeta, right. I was out with Peeta. Wonderful Peeta who was going to put me on my way back to Gale.

"My tea?" he repeated, gesturing to the cup, still mostly full. "Can I finish it?" I looked down at my soup, which was still half full, and decided it didn't really matter much to me. I wasn't very hungry anymore.

Manners. "Oh, yeah, sure," I said, propping myself against the edge of the booth. He scoffed a little, clearly not going to rush on my behalf, not that I'd have asked him to anyway. I just didn't exactly want to sit back down. My adrenaline was rushing too badly.

Just then, a ton of bricks in the form of Sunday night came crashing into me. "Wait," I gasped, sitting down. "So, do you know if Finnick or Annie told Gale about out dinner? Would they do that? Was it a test?" I felt panic stirring inside of me and willed it to dissipate.

He bit his lip and lowered his cup. "I kind of got that feeling, yeah."

Why didn't I think of that before?! "Dammit. I knew it. It was a test." I looked down, trying to remember exactly how I'd acted, but all I could remember was Peeta. Maybe, just maybe, he experienced it the same way. No harm in asking. "How did I do? Do you think I did alright?"

"Yeah, she said you were 'cool... Basically,'" he said, hesitantly.

"'Basically?'" I repeated. I was offended, though I didn't really know why. That was about as high of a compliment as I was ever going to get from Annie, but this was bigger than her normal bullshit.

Peeta frowned. "Katniss, please understand, this isn't me saying this," he started, gauging my reaction, "But, I mean, you know."

"No, I don't!" I burst. "I figured my reaction would make it clear that I don't know. 'Basically,' but what?" I let my gaze linger on him, wordlessly imploring him to be honest with me, no matter if he thought I could handle it or not. The fact that we didn't really know each other that well didn't matter, there was a sense of synergy between us that made me confident that he would just get it.

"Sort of just, how you are," he sighed. It seemed clear that, like I usually did with everyone, I was making him uncomfortable, too. Still, he seemed hell bent on comforting me. "It's fine. No big. Just relax, Katniss."

"What's that supposed to mean? How am I?"

He shifted, struggling with the words. "Sort of like me. I don't know. Damaged, I guess."

"'Sort of like you'!?" I gasped, uncomfortable with the association. Not because there was anything wrong with that- for him- but that's not how I presented myself and I didn't want anyone, least of all my husband, to get the wrong idea. It's one thing for a guy to have a lot of sex, but for me, I'd be socially condemned. It's not fair, but it's true, and I knew for a fact that that is how Gale felt. "God, I hope that's not what they told Gale!"

Wrong response. It became clear that I'd hurt him. "Why?" he asked, offended.

I couldn't very well get into double standards and the like. "Because it's just not right lumping you and me together. And Gale wouldn't like that. Especially after what you just told me?" I hoped he'd understand. It became clear that he didn't, so I tried to continue. "I mean, I'm trying to save a marriage, not have him think I'm some sort of..." I trailed off, fearing his interpretation.

Peeta remained slack jawed for a minute. He seemed stunned that I'd said it. After too long in silence, "You think I'm crazier than you," was all he could muster in response. Even that seemed to pain him.

"Well, no, we're just different," I urged. This was turning into a discussion I didn't want to have. It wasn't fair to either of us. He was drawing comparisons that weren't logical. We were in two different positions. I wasn't trying to attack him, I was just different. "I don't want him to think I'm sleeping around or something. I mean-" I tried to explain.

"Oh my god. You're killing me," he groaned, leaning forward and putting his head on the table. "God, you know what? Fuck it. Forget I even tried." Peeta jerked back up, throwing his hands in the air. "Forget the whole fucking idea. That must have been fucking crazy! The craziest thing I ever did because I am so much crazier than you." He was mocking me and drawing attention to the table. Not good.

"Wait, shh-" I urged, reaching for him. "Peeta, I-" But he kept making indignant noises over me as the other patrons stared on. "Keep your voice down," I plead.

Instead, he released a maniacal laugh. "I'm just the crazy whore with the dead wife!" I hadn't intended to strike a nerve, but I, of all people, knew that intent means exactly jack shit when you're hurt. "Forget it," he huffed.

"Would you shut the hell up for a minute?" I asked, not realizing how harsh I sounded.

"Fuck you!" he spat, getting up and sending the place settings clattering to the floor. "You shut the hell up!" he yelled, storming out.

The diner grew deathly silent and I got back up to chase after him. "Peeta, wait! Hey! Peeta!" I called, trying to recapture his attention. Before he got too far away, he slammed his hands against the window, flipping me off. I rushed toward the door, but was intercepted by the waitress, grabbing me by the wrist.

"Hold it there, soup for brains," she said, l waving our check in my face. Fuck. He was going to leave. He was going to be gone and I was never going to see him again. I panicked, hands trembling as I dug through my wallet for my money. The waitress took her time with the transaction, telling me not to go after him, that that sort of outburst meant he was no good for me. I tried to explain that it was my fault and he wasn't going to hurt me, but she didn't want to hear it. Finally, I made my way out the door and took off down the street, calling after him.

"Peeta, wait!" I yelled, hoping the man in front of me was actually him. The raised middle finger over his right shoulder confirmed it. "Hey, come on," I whined, following him through the streets and into a busy shopping area. He hesitated in the crowd, allowing me to catch him, grabbing for his hand, turning him to face me. "Look, you know I don't think that, right?" I implored.

He made a throaty noise in protest. "Yes, you do. You wouldn't have said it if you didn't. You told your therapist that you're in some sort of superior category of mental illness, right?!"

He was right. Of course he was right. At least partially, anyway. I'd recounted our meeting and all of the runs in vivid detail to Dr. Aurelius at that afternoon's session. He seemed to think that, though the 'emotionally volatile outbursts'- his words, not mine- could prove dangerous to my progress, it could also be beneficial to have a friend who understood the trials of coping with grief and the toll mental illness can take on a person. He'd also mentioned that seeing how other people, myself included, react to Peeta could put my effect on people into perspective. OH. So that's what he meant by 'like me. I really fucked up. "No, it's not like that," I said, trying to explain myself, but I knew he wouldn't hear it if he was in hysterics. "Hey, calm down," I whispered, pulling him off to the side, out of the center of the pedestrian traffic.

"Just leave me alone, Katniss!" he whined.

"Can I just explain myself here, please?" I asked. Taking his silence as an ok, I forged on. Start at the beginning. Explain why you reacted the way you did, then tell him what you know now. "I didn't understand what you meant back there at first. I just- I don't want Gale to associate me with that kind of sexual behavior because I've never been that way. It's beyond me. I just don't want him-"

"You may not have experienced the shit that I did, but you fucking lapped it up didn't you?" he interjected. I was stunned. He was right, again, but that wasn't where I was going. Still, I let him talked. Perhaps I'd said enough. "You're afraid to live, Katniss. You think you're exempt from the shit that you do- that it's not part of some bigger picture. You don't see what you do to people." When I didn't argue with him, he got more pissed off, drawing closer to me. "You're a hypocrite. You're a conformist. You're a liar. I opened up and you judged me! You're an asshole."

I couldn't take it anymore. "Shut up!" I yelled, pushing him away from me and turning to go.

"Get off!" I heard Peeta yell, and as I turned around to see what was going on, a much taller guy had him by the arms, pulling him back.

"Take it easy. Dude, relax," commanded the stranger. I was dumbfounded. People were starting to swarm me, asking if I was alright- if he'd hurt me. I looked at Peeta, not knowing what to do. This was all my fault. Everything was getting so far out of hand.

"Get off of me," he said, breaking free of the guys grasp, gesturing at me. "She's harassing me!" His eyes were dark and cold, no longer the same friendly man I'd been with a few minutes prior. My heart started to pound. I tried to dodge the well-meaning onlookers, but they wouldn't let me go, trying to separate us.

"That's not what it looks like, pal, alright?" a new voice chimed in. "Knock it off. Leave her be," he directed.

An older woman took my hands and started pulling me in the opposite direction. And there it was. A familiar vamp crept in with the voices of the people around us.

I jerked myself away from her. "Stop! No," I screamed, slamming my hands over my ears. "Stop! Stop, stop, stop, stop, alright!"

I doubled over, trying desperately not to let it overwhelm me. "Panem et circenses. Panem et circenses. Panem et circenses." I focused on my words, willing them to be the only thing I heard.

"Woah, shit!" came Peeta's voice through the crowd. But it didn't matter. The song was invading my every thoughts.

Tears began to stream down my face. A shrill, piercing sound started in the distance, but I couldn't isolate it. "Katniss!" he called, pushing people out of the way and crouching down to eye level with me.

I restarted my chant, "Panem et circenses. Panem et circences. Panem et circenses. Panem et circenses. Panem et circenses." I repeated desperately.

"Katniss, come on. You can't be here-" Peeta hissed, urging me to look at him.

I searched his face, kind again. What happened back there to flip the switch? The larger man came back, pulling at him.

Peeta took a swing, blocking the guy's approach. "Get the fuck off me, man," he warned, turning back to me. He put his hands hesitantly on my upper arms.

"The cops are coming, Katniss. Do you hear the sirens?" I stared at him blankly. Sirens? What sirens? All I could hear was the deafening melody of the song.

He stood me back up, hands on my face now, insisting that I look in his eyes. "We have to go. Katniss, go!" He shook me. I couldn't move. I was paralyzed by it. "Fuck!" he cursed, sweeping me off my feet easily and taking off down a nearby alley way, carrying me along like a rag doll.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, sobbing into his shoulder. "I didn't. I didn't-" I stuttered, unable to find the words.

I'd been horrible to him and here he was carrying me away from a situation that was my fault and I couldn't even apologize properly because of the fucking song blaring in my head. "I'm sorry, Peeta, I'm sorry." He panted a little under my weight, navigating us to a park closer to both of our houses. He gently put me down on a bench and knelt in front of me, wiping away my tears.

"I didn't-"

"Katniss," he said, but I couldn't bring myself to look at him. "Katniss, come on." He smiled at me, seeming to try to make me more comfortable. Not working.

He searched his brain for something, before you could see the metaphorical light bulb. "Here, let's play a game, okay? Let's play a game! We'll call it real or not real."

"One of us will say a sentence and the other will confirm or deny it. Okay?" I nodded tentatively. "I'll start. Your name is Katniss Everdeen."

"Real," I breathed.

His expression remained unchanged. "My name is Guy Weathersong," he stated plainly.

I screwed up my face. "Not real," I answered, "Peeta Mellark."

He smiled, sensing that I was getting it. "Okay, you try."

the song raged on, and I shook my head trying to clear myself of it.

"You hate me," I said, images of his earlier outburst coursing alongside the music.

He stood up, shocked. "Woah, not real." He paced around a little, unhinged by my choice of things to clarify. Obviously, I wasn't going to go for simple little things, but he seemed truly shaken by how fast I went there.

"The song's playing," I whispered.

Shaking his head sadly, Peeta came back and sat down next to me. "Not real, Katniss." As soon as he said it, the music died out and my body shook with a sob. I hated it. I knew it wasn't real, but why did I need someone else to confirm it. He rub his hand in light circles on my back, just as he'd done on the table for himself. "Just breathe. There, you go." My breathing began to slow to normal. After a few minutes, he repositioned himself on the bench and looked at me. "So, tell me something, and I'm not trying to be a dick here, or pour salt in a wound or anything, but are you just gonna go your whole life scared of that song? It's just a song. Don't make it a monster," he advised. I must've been a sight, because he immediately backed off. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry," he repeated, wrapping me in a tight hug.

Almost without my knowledge, my body responded to the closeness. I squeezed my eyes shut, pulling him closer. "I'm sorry, too," I whispered, not daring to break the embrace.

"Don't be," he assured. "You were being honest and I took it too far."

"You were being honest, too," I backed away a little, tentatively.

His eyes flitted over me, assessing me. "But you asked if I hate you," he started. "Do you really think I'd be sitting here next to you, trying to calm you down if I hated you? Why would I have bothered carrying you away from the cops?" The only answer I could give was a shrug. He shook his head, smiling fondly. "I couldn't... I can't hate you. I just have a stupid, stupid lack of ability to distinguish attacks from observations." He took my hand in his, turning it over, observing the scratches on my arms- another proof of that.

"Still, I'm sorry about what I said. It was out of line. I shouldn't have."

"I know," he nodded "you speak first and think later."

"All the time," I laughed.

We walked the short distance to his place hand in hand, neither wanting to break the silence. It had grown much colder as the night went on, and when we reached his driveway, I gave a shiver as I spoke. So, you and me, we're good then?" I asked, all too nervously.

He nodded, smiling. "Real." I considered him for a moment, and he seemed to be doing the same. He turned to go and I watched him walk, unsure what I'd done to deserve someone as good as Peeta. "I'll still give your letter to Gale, don't worry," he called over his shoulder, refocusing me.

It was shocking, somehow, that after everything that had happened tonight, he was still willing to put himself in the line of fire for me. "Wow. I really appreciate that, Peeta," I called after him.

"I know you do," he said, a little placidly.

"You do?" I asked, just for clarity's sake.

Peeta didn't bother to turn around, he merely answered, "Yeah, sure."

I paused a moment, unsure what the plan was. "I'll see you tomorrow, then?" I asked. He gave me a thumbs up over his shoulder. Even that small gesture gave me a well needed boost. I waited for him to get inside, then headed off for home, recalling everything I'd wanted to say before.


	7. Chapter 7

Sometimes, despite your best laid plans, things still don't work out the way you think. I'm coming to believe that that's what should be put on my headstone when they sink me in dirt.

The following morning, I skipped breakfast and headed straight for Peeta's, letter in hand. As I approached the door, a leggy blonde was sitting on the windowsill, trying to get a peek in. There was nothing particularly remarkable about her, sure she was hot, but in a very generic, stereotypical way. She looked to be about ten years older than me and certainly didn't strike me as Peeta's type. The only thing that struck me was that she had several items that said 'Cashmere' on them. They looked like the type of things that would normally be the wearer's name. Personally, I hoped that was her mantra or something- a reminder to be soft and luxurious in her daily life or something, I don't know- but I hoped, for her sake, that her name wasn't really Cashmere. At least it wasn't like Apple or something, I guess. "Are you looking for Peeta?" I asked, knowing the answer.

"Why, are you his mother?" she growled.

I hesitated for a moment, crossing my arms and leaning against the door. "No, but you look old enough to be," I cracked. The look on the woman's face was priceless. Sure it was mean, but she was already rubbing me the wrong way. "Look, I'm supposed to meet him today, we went for dinner last night-"

"You the current fuck?" she asked abruptly, hopping down off the sill.

I blinked a few times, bile rising in the back of my throat. She must have been one of the women from the gallery. I screwed up my courage and took a step toward her. "You know, what and whom Peeta engages with an in whatever ways is no concern of yours."

"No concern," she said, unconvinced. "We used to date. He texted me. Not the other way around."

"And you can't practice some common courtesy and understand that the guy's in pain?" I leveled with her, "Look, why don't you just go, huh? I'll tell him you were here and if he really does want to see you, he'll call." I ushered her down the driveway. "See, here's the thing, guys like Peeta, they try to put up a strong face, make it seem like they're down with the whole casual sex, but really, they're markedly insecure about it." She gave me a look that probably should have chased me off, but after the way he was there for me the night prior, I felt obligated to help him out. "The thing is, they do it to make other people feel good with no regard for themselves. They feel so bad about what's going on with them and how they can't figure their own stuff out, so they do what they can for others in a way they think they can. For Peeta, the best thing he could think of was sex, but that's not really him." We reached her car and she got in, leaving the door open. Apparently she was actually listening. "You're picking on easy prey. He's got a broken wing so he's an easy target, but just... you wait. He'll fly again. Maybe then, you should take him on a date or something. Get to know him," I hesitated, before closing the door for her, "a little less intimately than before, at first." I waved her off and then, forgetting that I'd never actually knocked for Peeta, I headed back for home.

I didn't get far before I heard a familiar heavy gait behind me. I thought, for a second, he was trying to catch up to me until he was whizzing past me. "What the..." I took a second, absorbing the fact that I wasn't really dressed for a run right now and certainly wasn't really streched, then took off after him, abandoning my better judgement. "Hey, wait a minute! Where are you going," I yelled. He didn't stop, heading back to that little park.

When I finally caught up to him, he was really out of breath. Clearly, he wasn't ready for the excercise, either. "Why weren't you outside? I was looking for you, but that blonde..."  
"Cashmere," he panted, giving me the go ahead gesture.

"You do know her? Okay well that's a..." I hesitated. "Wait, that's her name? Cashmere? Like the fabric?"

He gave a short breathless laugh. "You didn't notice it in rhinestones on all of her stuff?"  
"I did, I just..." I shook my head. I didn't want to believe it, but I could just hear the Mythbusters busting out a big red 'confirmed' stamp. "Wow. Cashmere, huh?"

"Yeah," we stood for a moment, trying to maintain a serious face, neither of us having particularly conventional names. Come to think of it, the only people I knew with halfway normal names were Annie, Johanna and Gale, and even his was a little off considering every other person I'd encountered with that name were women and spelled it Gail. Parents are weird. When we couldn't contain it anymore, we laughed, loud and hard, starting to walk together.

When the moment seemes right, I asked what I really wanted to know. "So, why did you bail on me?"

"I can't do it, Katniss. I can't give Gale the letter," he said sadly.

"Why? What do you mean you can't do it? You're not afraid of getting in trouble are you because like..." I struggled to come up with a reason he shouldn't be worried about it, and then gave up, concluding that it was actually a pretty valid fear. I didn't know what the penalty was for assisting in the breach of a restraining order- or if that was what it was called, come to think of it- but it probably wasn't going to be a 'Peeta, you shouldn't have. Promise me you won't do it again.'

"Katniss, what am I doing this for? Huh?" He'd stopped short, very upset. "I do this all the time. I pour myself out to people. I give and give and give and get nothing in return." He began gesturing emphatically and his voice grew loud. "There's not enough of me left. I can't do things for nothing anymore." His arms fell to his side, realizing that he was yelling. Suddenly quiet again, he added, "One day, you wake up and realize that you're fucking empty."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. It wasn't out of fear. He just wasn't going to do it. "But that was... You said..." I stammered. "We had a deal, Peeta."  
"I know, I'm sorry," he said.

"Why now, though? Why after you already said yes?" I couldn't believe him. He suggested it! He said he'd do it up until the night before. What changed?

He closed his eyes, blocking me out. "Because it'll always be a why now. It has to stop sometime or I'm never gonna get what I want," he said.

I paced a bit, thinking. Eventually, it came down to one last option and I knew what he meant. It had to be some sort of a deal. "Alright, so what can I do for you? How can we make this an even trade?"

"I couldn't..." he waved me off.

"Peeta, what?" If he 'couldn't', what then? "There's gotta be something," I pryed.

"There's something," he said. "But I couldn't ask you to."

At least it was something. Even if it was 'too big' for something like that, it was a start. "Okay, what kind of a something?" I asked gently.

He shook his head dismissively. "A dance something."

"Alright," I responded. I'd never been the graceful type, that was always Prim. But, who knows. Maybe I could still help somehow.

He loosed a tense sigh and started. "It's a competition at the Flickerman. It's a big thing that I've always really wanted to do and I've been working really hard on it and Delly wasn't into it and..."

I interrupted him. "Well, she's dead so..."

"Katniss, please!" he whined.  
"Sorry," I said, recalling our conversation the night before, and added "Think first, then talk. I know." I needed to stop hurting him every time I opened my stupid mouth.

"Christ. Every time," he hissed, turning away with furrowed brows.

I flicked my hands up in front of me in submission. "I'm sorry, go on."

"You can only do it if you have a partner, and the deadline for submission is coming up." He rolled his eyes and shook his head sadly. "So, do you think, maybe..." he trailed off. Still, I knew what he was asking.

"A dance competition? Peeta, I have the charm and grace of a potato root." He laughed at the comparison. "Isn't there... I can't, Peeta. I fall over my own two feet."

His expression fell. "What, your schedule's that full of what? Jogging, therapy, and high school English books?"

"Peeta, please don't..." _read me so clearly. It's not fair that you already get me that well._ I covered my eyes with my hands. "Isn't there something else? I can't dance." It wasn't that I didn't want to, but everything about me was ungainly. I must've missed all of the girly genes and they, instead, went to Prim.

"Then I'm not giving him the letter," he answered shortly. It wasn't mean. It wasn't snotty. It wasn't spiteful. It was merely stated as a genuine fact, as if there was nothing more natural to say. I stood there, drinking in his certainty. As I did, he turned to leave.

I couldn't let him leave. Not without making sure he'd do what he said. "Wait a second, Peeta!" I called out.

He stopped, not turning back to me. "Think about it." He waited a moment, and then continued on his way.

There was a moment I thought I'd just let him walk and deal with it later, and then it hit me- I actually wanted to spend time with him in the future either way. If I didn't come up with some way to help him, he'd think I was a bitch. I chased after him and grabbed his shoulder gently, circling around him. "Wait, but I already did do something for you, you know?

"Yeah, what's that?" he asked, folding his arms.

Smiling, I folded my arms in a snarky mirror, accenting it with a subtle jut of my hip. "I got rid of the Velveteen Playboy Bunny or whatever the fuck her name was!"

A laugh burst from his lips. "Cashmere? That's your big favor?" When I seemed disappointed at his response, he scoffed and stepped around me.

"Let me ask you something," I called after him, "do you call her when you're lonely?" Shoulders slumping slightly, he ran his fingers through his hair, ruffling the longer layers around his ears. "You have to stop this, Peeta. It encourages her to keep using you. You really shouldn't..."

Exhausted, he snapped, turning back and headed right at me. "Couldn't you say the same about this big fucking charade with Gale?" His eyes searched mine.

"What? No!" I didn't mean to sound offended, but I was a little. It wasn't the same thing at all. "No, it's nothing like me and Gale. We're in love and married. It's a totally different situation." I wasn't using him as a crutch or using the crap with him as a distraction from dealing with anything else or anything. Was I?

He took a few steps closer to me and looked up at the sky. "Explain to me how him fucking another chick in your house and then getting a restraining order put out on you is "in love and married." He laughed a little, this all suddenly way more than he bargained for. "Somehow, I don't think that's what Sinatra was talking about with 'Love &amp; Marriage.'" He shrugged his shoulders, like to say 'come on.' I didn't know what he wanted me to say. "Tell me, Katniss. I want to understand. Explain it to me."  
It became clear that he wasn't going to let me go without telling him something, even if it isn't whatever he wanted to hear. I bit my lip, focusing on my feet, and started, "Look... it's... our relationship is unconventional. Nobody gets it. Hell, even I don't sometimes. He's gorgeous. It's chemistry."  
"Wow..." he said, in mock awe.

"No, it's an electric charge. We want to change each other, but that's something all couples do. We've been together since we were 18 fucking years old. 10 years down the line, it can't still be the same shit." He stared at me incredulously. Ugh. Why did he insist on pushing. "We just want what's best for each other. I want him to stop treating me like a child. He wanted me to get healthy. I wanted him to stop hiding things from me. He wanted me to get my shit together and get my psychological stuff under control. I've done my part. And I think he's done his." Peeta shook his head. He didn't get it. Clearly his marriage wasn't like mine. "Couples fight. We would fight and get distant for a while. But he always comes back. Why should this time be any different?" I rolled my eyes and groaned, tired of defending my marriage. The only person I really cared to- and needed to- talk to about it wouldn't speak to me. "He wanted me to be better and that's what I want from him. I think I'm my best self now, and I think he's his best self. And our love's gonna be amazing."

Peeta was having none of it. He raised his hands, mocking me. "It's gonna be amazing and he's gonna be amazing and you're gonna be amazing and you're not gonna be the one who takes advantage of a situation without giving back." He turned on his heel and finished the walk back to his place a few paces ahead of me. "Think about the dance thing," he called over his shoulder when we reached the drive.

I stared after him, feeling limp. I was going to have to do this stupid friggin' dance thing.

To my chagrin, the following day, I agreed to meet Peeta at an address I didn't recognize at 9:30 in the morning to talk out the logistics of the dance stuff and get started. We met in front of the building and headed inside. He flicked the lights on and walked to the center of the room. "So, this is going to, hopefully, be a gallery of my own by this time next year, but, for the time being, I've been using it as a dance studio. I picked the hard oak because it's got a great bounce for that and it looks nice, so it'll be fine." He gestured around. One wall was mirrored; Of the other three in the room, two were blank, but one was adorned with nearly a dozen canvases, each depicting different images- the diner we'd eaten at, the garden in the park by his house, flowers and a bottle of wine laying on a counter top, each gorgeous in their own right, but seemingly skewed. They were almost too real.

I paced the wall, taking them in. "You paint, too?" I asked, fingers grazing along the nameplate next to a canvas before I looked up at it. It was varying shades of silvers and greys, almost like a tunnel, with two small objects in the bottom out of reach. It was stirring, but for reasons I couldn't explain. "Wow," was all I could manage, before turning back to him with a new respect.

"Yeah, I did all of these," he shrugged, gesturing along the wall. "It's a start, I guess, but I'd like to get some local artists with real talent to put some in here. That's what the hold up on opening is."

It physically pained me to hear him talk down these paintings. "Peeta," I interjected, "they're incredible." I assured him.  
"Thanks," he said, though he didn't seem to buy it. "Now, listen, I'm not a great dancer, but who cares, right? It's theraputic and it's fun." He plopped his laptop down on the floor a fair distance away from one of the walls, facing it, and put the bag down next to it. I didn't question it, but it seemed to me like it would have made more sense for the speakers to be facing us and for it to be against the wall.

"So, are you a good teacher though?" I asked, growing nervous.

He smiled brightly. "Well, that remains to be seen, doesn't it?"

"I guess so," I agreed.

He squatted down at the laptop and moved his hand over the trackpad to wake it up. "I was thinking maybe we would start with-"

Suddenly, panic took over and I found myself itching to distract him from wanting me to dance. "When are you gonna give it to him?" I blurted, reminding myself that I was doing this all for a reason.  
"Do what?" he asked, blinking a few times.

"The letter. Gale," I reminded him.

"Oh," he laughed, looking back at the screen. "Probably tonight."

"Really?" I asked. That's so soon. Would I have missed the opportunity if I hadn't actually decided to go through with it last night? I felt myself relax, against my better judgement, as soon as he looked back at me.  
"Yeah. Finnick and Annie and I are going to see him tonight." He smiled, nodding me over to him.

I crossed the room, stopping a few feet away. "Oh! Wow. So, soon, then. Huh." I gestured to where the letter lay, strewn next to his laptop case. "You see, I did this tie in in the first paragraph to the characters in-"

Peeta made an "Mmhmm..." noise that completely threw me, so I redirected my rambling.

"And I said that maybe someday, if this dance thing goes well, maybe he and I can go together. He always liked that kind of Rogers &amp; Astaire stuff but I never had the-"

He stood up, derailing my train of thought completely as he tugged me over to where he'd been near-sitting by his laptop. "That's great. Really good," he nodded, as though completely listening, when it was pretty clear that I could have been giving him instructions on how to rebuild a carburator for all the attention my words were getting. I didn't much mind, though.

"I also mentioned how- how what I'm doing is really generous. Being of service to you and all." I stammered. Why was he making me so nervous and why were we both standing so close to the wall?

"Yeah, definitely. Generous," he nodded, sitting down and patting the space next to him as though asking me to do the same. "No ulterior motives whatsoever. And totally 100% involved, right?" he clarified.

I stared at him for a moment. "Yeah, and- wait, what?" I didn't think that that might have been a jab at my actually wanting to do this until just then. And I froze.

"Nothing," he laughed, "Don't worry about it. I'm not gonna start us on anything too strenuous right away. I was actually thinking first we might watch a movie or two. That is, if I can get you to sit down over here next to me." He cocked his head, gesturing once more to the vacancy in front of his laptop with a smile. "Come on," he said, clearly amused at my discomfort.

"Movie?" I asked, a little relieved that maybe we wouldn't be dancing at all today.

He nodded, a touch proud of himself, sensing my relief. "Yeah, they're cliches, but I think they'll really help.

I took a deep breath and slid down next to him, leaning in close. "So, whattaya got, Mellark?" I asked.

Pulling two cases from the laptop bag, he answered "Dirty Dancing," in a 'what else do you expect' type of tone.

"Of course," I mused.

He blushed a little, proffering the second, "and Holiday Inn."

And there it was again. My foot was becoming very well acuainted with my mouth. That fucking Astaire jab earlier couldn't have gone over well. At least he didn't seem too offended then. "Interesting," I nodded, "Reasoning?"

He gave me a sideways grin and explained. "Well, first they're two of my all time favorites. So, I figured it would give you a glimpse into me, plus there's really gorgeous dances in it that I thought we might be able to toy around with and... shall we say 'lovingly rip off.'"

'Lovingly rip off'. Alright, I got it. Inspiration never hurts. "Good. I like it," I nodded, tension finally all gone.

Popping the first disc in and pressing play, we sat watching intently. Peeta took some notes whenever they danced. Once or twice, we did rewind some things and get up to see if they were easily replicated. To my surprise, they weren't that difficult at all. Peeta even managed to get me off the ground at one point.

Now, being in the air was nice. It was the sharp collision of my rear end and the oaken floor that didn't go over well. He babied me a bit, going into the frige in the office space and getting me some ice and balling up his sweatshirt under me. It was nice, really, having someone who really did seem to care. Still, I couldn't help thinking that I could put up with the physical abuse, especially considering how rude and inconsiderate I could be.

We watched in silence as the characters shared an intimate moment together in the cabin. I hated to admit, but the scene was actually pretty hot. I didn't remember this movie actually being as good as it is. Finally trusting my voice to not give off hints of my arousal, I quipped, "So, do you fancy yourself more a Swayze or an Astaire?"

My question seemed to startle Peeta, but he didn't much falter. "Ha. Neither, but I guess Swayze's more attainable at this stage in the game, maybe," he answered, a little demurely. It almost looked like I'd flattered him by the comparison.

If he was flattered, I was going to have to go for embarassed. Or worse. "I'll give you that one," I agreed, before sizing him up a little, sliding in what was even a little too close for my comfort. "You've definitely got the body for it." I ran one hand down his strong arm and intertwined my fingers with his playfully. His face grew bright red, and he pulled himself away. Flirting with Peeta was going to be fun. Even if it was a little mean.

We watched the remainder of the first movie and the whole second one in a similar fashion. As the, now, afternoon drew to a close, he walked me out of the building. "I'll never be able to do that kind of stuff, Peeta," I said, looking him over and leaning against the doorway.

"It's not as hard as it looks. It's really not. I promise." He said, mirroring me on the other side of the door. "But, past that, nobody's asking you to dance like them. All I'm asking is that you dance like you." The all-to-familiar blush returned to his cheeks. "That's more than I could ever have wished for."

Apparently, blushing is contagious. Who knew? After a few more moments of silence, I asked the question I'd been a bit too afraid to ask. "Why didn't Delly ever do this kind of stuff with you?" Most women would kill for a guy who wanted to take her dancing.

Peeta closed the door, pulling me in out of the crisp autumn air. He wrung his hands together in front of him and tapped the small of his back against the wall. "I told her, when we were younger, that I'd been attracted to guys. Being bisexual isn't something I'd been ashamed of. It wasn't like some experiment after she died." He focused on some point on the floor between us and continued, "I'd always known. But I loved Delly, so the fact that I was attracted to guys didn't much matter, right? Well, it mattered to her. So, the painting was about the most artistic thing I could get her to accept. I asked about the dancing every year, but she was terrified that the more 'feminine' things I got into, the more likely it was that I was going to leave her for a guy. When in reality, all it would have done was led me to a person, male or female, who would have accepted that I like to dance and paint and bake." He stared up at me with those brilliant blue eyes, welled with tears.

It didn't make sense. He was telling me all of these things, but I couldn't bring myself to open up to him. For some reason, my mind wandered back to the painting. "Oh, Peeta," I said, voice barely above a whisper, crossing to him and rubbing his arm comfortingly as he cried.

He straightened up stiffly. "But that makes it sound like we weren't in love. We were. Madly." He wiped away the tears and nodded, "She just didn't get everything there was about me."

After a few more minutes of companionable silence, we said our goodbyes and parted ways, agreeing to meet at the same time the following morning to really get started.

We'd been rehearsing a while and we were getting nowhere. Apparently, according to Peeta, I couldn't even walk across a room well enough to begin the actual dance part. He assured me that he just wanted to make sure we got the tone right before we started committing it to muscle memory with the wrong feeling. I wasn't aware that that was possible, but he clearly knew more about it than I did.

We reset to walk toward each other for what was either the 90th or 9 millionth time. This time, he tried a different approach. "Look at me like I'm Gale." I shot him a look that was 100% for him out of my frustration. "Oh, wow, no wonder he... never mind." He laughed a little when my glare intensified. "I'm kidding. Look, start at that corner and walk to me. Keep your eyes on the floor and don't look up until you get to me." I did as I was told. "Slower. Slower. Good pace. When you get to me, look up and tell me everything you've ever wanted to say to him with just your eyes. Okay... now." I looked up, thinking about nothing more than the man in front of me and how much I wanted to do this for him.

Apparently, that did it though. "There, good. Okay. Do you feel that? The emotion?" he said, cheerily.

My heart pounded away in my chest. "No." It wasn't exactly a lie. I just didn't need him to know that the emotion I felt wasn't what he wanted it to be.

"Alright, let's try it a different way." He hesitated for a moment, then locked eyes with me. "Did you ever find out what happened to Delly?"

Breath caught in my chest, I choked out a weak "No."

He let out a sigh and centered himself. "We were married 3 years and 5 days. And I loved her. But for the last couple of months, things were weird." He shrugged. "I wasn't into the sex. At all. We did it, but only out of habit. We were so different and I was depressed." He shook his head and averted his eyes, obviously still uncomfortable talking about it. "Some of that is just me. Some of it is the lack of expression I was telling you about the other night with the dance and stuff. Some of that is that we were trying so hard to have kids and then her OB/GYN said that it just probably wouldn't happen for us. So, anyway, one night after dinner, she drove out to Paylor Plaza on i-8. She wanted to surprise me with something lacy and little to try and get it going." He smiled sadly, wrapping his arms tightly around himself. "On the way back, she stopped on some back road to help an older lady cross the street and got hit by a car. And the Victoria's Secret box was on the front seat. When I got to the hospital to identify her body, they told me she was pregnant." He let out what could have been any number of sounds; a laugh, an indignant scoff, a sigh, any combination therein. "We were actually going to have everything we'd wanted. It was going to get better and then she was gone. I don't even know if she knew." He finished his story. A tear rolled down my face and I took a tentative step toward him. "That's emotion," he said, pointing at me lazily.

The next morning, I rushed down the stairs and into the kitchen, hoping to grab a granola bar and a piece of fruit on the way out. I was running late and definitely not in a spot where conversation could be helpful. I was almost out the door when Effie's sugary sweet tones came floating into the room from behind me. "Hold on, Katniss. Where've you been the last couple of days?" she asked, perching herself on one of the kitchen island stools and preparing for a leisurely conversation.

"With Peeta, Effie," I said quickly, "where I'm headed now."

She pursed her lips tightly. The rumor mill seemed to make its way to her no matter what. "Oh. Peeta Mellark? Oh, honey..." she started, readying herself to spill everything I already knew to me in exaggerated and inflamed details that she probably heard from someone who heard it from someone who saw someone leaving his place.

I rolled my eyes, playing along. "What? No, no, it's not like that, I'm helping him with this thing. It's nothing, really and..."

She cut me off, apparently uninterested. "Well, look, Haymitch wanted you to have this." She held out a folded up newspaper to me.

"What is it?" I asked dumbly. She looked over my head, in the direction of a sudden rustling from the other room. I glanced over my shoulder to see everything undisturbed. Everything, that is, except for Haymitch's bathrobe draped over the back of one of the dining room chairs. I shook my head and turned back to her.

She answered coolly, "The sports pages. He wants to spend some time with you and he says you bring him luck." I screwed up my face a little. Haymitch had never been one to come to me for luck. Picking up on my disbelief, she continued. "Katniss, he needs it right now and..."

I looked up at the clock on the wall and froze. I needed to go right now. "Alright, Effie, I'll look it over and talk to you both later, okay? Bye, Haymitch! Love you." I called over my shoulder, bringing his lack of stealth to light on my way out the door.

Skittering into the room just as the clock hit 9:30, Peeta quickly grabbed the paper and my book out of my hands. "Football stays out of here. And so does F. Scott Fitzgerald." He waved them in front of me a little, teasingly.

"Wait, no. Seriously. I'm behind on everything this morning," I whined, grasping lamely after my belongings.

"And you're not gonna catch up on my time," he said, tossing them out the door.

I was floored. Did he really do that? "What the hell, Peeta?" He walked into the open space and started stretching. "Hey! Did you seriously just throw that outside?!" I yelped, grabbing him by the wrist and forcing him to look at me.

"What?! You're not gonna read that shit on my time. I can tell you all about The Not So Fucking Great Gatsby." His hands flew about wildly as he spoke, pacing in small circles. "It's about this rich, white, trademark "Nice Guy" older dude in the roaring 20's who thinks everyone around him is beneath him so he invites everyone he knows to these lavish parties at his obnoxious house trying to get a girl, the narrator Mr. Big Yale Graduate War Hero's cousin, to notice him. And she does. And they start having an affair, but her husband's a mondo-douche and tells everyone all about the way Gatsby made his fortune, bootlegging because how the hell else did anyone make money then, right?" He turns back to face me, suddenly disgusted and frustrated. Clearly, his distaste for this book ran deep. "And there's a billboard with big, judgey eyes and the green light on the end of the dock signifies the american dream. So, it turns out that Manic Pixie Dream Girl's husband was having an affair too. And she turns up dead- hit by the rich fucker's car, if you must know. And everyone lies about it and then Gatsby ends up dead too and the narrator goes home at the end of the summer with the realization that these people and their money are horrible and he's never going back to long island again." He finishes up, mimicking crumpling a piece of paper up in his hands and throwing it over his shoulder. "Like, these people are nasty, despicable people and there IS no silver lining to that," he panted.

I stared after him for a moment, trying to decide how to respond. "That's actually... a really astute synopsis, but I still have to read it." Just then, the front door's entrance bell went off and we exchanged baffled looks, each walking toward the front door. "Who's that?" I asked, wondering if maybe he'd planned this. When the newcomer bounded into sight, it became clear he had nothing to do with it. Red hair cropped into an edgy bob, an outfit meant for much warmer weather, and the deliberite click clack of stilettos could only mean one person, and she was here for me. "Johanna?!" I squeaked, rather unbecomingly, and rushed to her, wrapping her in a tight hug.

"Hey, brainless!" she crooned right back, tugging on my hair, braided back for our rehearsal.

"What the hell are you doing here?!" I asked.

She pulled my book and paper out from behind her back, tossing them against the wall, much to Peeta's dismay. "Apparently, being told to read more, thanks so much, by the way." She said, tipping her imaginary hat at me, then straightening up. "No, they let me out."

Peeta looked on between the two of us, utterly baffled. "For real, this time?" I asked. I didn't think I could take it if she was just going to get carted away for running off again.

"Yes, for real," she confirmed. "I had no reason to run away from Capitol or I would have left with you, wouldn't I?"

I nodded. She did have a point. "How did you know we were here?"

"I stopped by your place and Effie put me on the right track." Johanna paced around, taking in the space, then focusing in on Peeta. "And this is certainly not the type of art I was expecting in a gallery. I wouldn't mind pinning him up on my wall and..."

Peeta's face went beet red, the same shade I'd only seen elicited by my own flirting. Suddenly, I found myself a bit jealous, even though I knew well she didn't mean anything by it. Still, I felt the need to interrupt. "Down girl," I coaxed, wedging myself between them. "Peeta Mellark, this is Johanna Mason. Johanna, this is..."

"The guy you told me about?" her eyebrows raised suggestively.

"Yep," I answered coolly.

His face brightened immediately. "You told her about me?" He looked eagerly between us, smiling as broad as I'd ever seen him. "I'm 'the guy?'" he repeated, looking remarkably like a puppy.

"Oh, yeah. Katniss here gave me a pretty good run down," Johanna confirmed.

Ignoring my very existence, he focused on her. "What did she say?"

"Well," she mused, "she said you were helping each other out and that you were nice and had a nice ass and strong hands and..."

I had to stop her. "Johanna!" I cried out, before she could go further.

She waved me off. "Alright, she said you had a mouth on you and that you-"

I swung around her, clasping my hand around her mouth, hissing in her ear "Enough!"

"No, please, tell me more," Peeta urged.

Under my hand, Johanna's tongue darted about, trying to gross me out, but there wasn't much she could do there. You see, she was my roommate and best friend at Capitol. When they'd introduced us, she didn't bat an eye, just talked to me as normal, while stripping down to completely nude and flopped herself down on her bed. Remember when I said that I'd kissed one woman. That's Johanna. About two weeks later, she was complaining about a lack of guys. I agreed that it was lonely. She climbed in bed with me that night and pressed her mouth against mine, taking me by complete surprise. Still, for some reason, it didn't bother me. Somehow, though, I didn't think she was like that with everyone, just people she was super comfortable with. Nevertheless, I didn't want to risk her taking the same measures on Peeta. "Anything you want to know, I'll just tell you. It was nothing, really." I shrugged, finally releasing her and looking at him. "I just appreciate your friendship. It was pretty... normal."

"Mhm," he hummed skeptically.

Without missing a beat, Johanna chimed back in. "So, are you two sleeping together?"

"Oh my god... I'm..." I stammered, trying to apologize.

Without looking, I could tell by the click of her tongue and change in posture, that she rolled her eyes feigning exhaustion at my protests. "What? Katniss, he's hot. And so are you. And he seems to like you. Which is more than we can say about the hubby right now, isn't it?"

I didn't answer for a moment and Peeta gauged my mood. I spun Johanna around to face me, squaring off with my hands on her shoulders. "Peeta is my friend," I said slowly, trying to get it through to her, or perhaps myself..

Suddenly, I was grateful I'd turned her to me because she made a crude gesture with her tongue and hands, all the while asking her own question, "So do I get a sneaky peek at this dance thing or what?"

"Yeah," Peeta said enthusiastically, excited for the input. He crossed to his laptop and put on some music.

Tentatively, I agreed, "Okay, sure," landing a soft punch to her shoulder for her lewd behavior.

"Okay," he said, "we're not in very far yet. To be honest, we haven't even really finalized the music, but this is the gist of what we have so far.

We did our walk to the center and circled each other. Then, he clasped my hands and in one sharp motion, he brought my frame into a steady lock. We cha-cha'd for a few measures, then he spun me out. We did a few step touches and a jazz square... and that was it. He smiled, looking at Johanna for approval.

"That's it?" I knew it. I knew we sucked. Johanna's a no-holds-barred person and she was going to tell it like it is and he was going to hate me. Fuck. I silently willed her to be kind.

"Why? What is it?" he asked, panic teeming at the edges of his normally steady voice.

Johanna crossed to us, facing him first, then me. "May I? Do you mind?"

"Not at all," I said, a little taken aback by her manners.

"Are you sure?" she asked, turning back to me with a wink.

There it was. Peeta, though, was totally blind to it. "Absolutely," he urged.

"Just spit it out, Johanna," I sighed.

"Alright, look, first and foremost..." she circled us, eyes panning up and down, "you two need to be facing each other." When I moved to remedy her point, she interjected. "Let me show you. Katniss, excuse me." She stepped in, taking my position, but instead of a frame, she draped her arms around Peeta's neck and he pulled her closer, encircling her, but never touching her, and never breaking eye contact. Fuck. She's so effortlessly sexy and he would have to be deaf and blind and gay to not fall for her. She spoke to me, "So, you have to come at him with some more fire," she instructed, hitching her hips into him. "You have those curves now, use them. Peeta, don't be afraid to loosen up and for god's sakes touch her." She pushed his arms down so that his hands traced down her back, finally coming to rest at the crest of her ass. "Something like this," she said, eventually gesturing for me to join. "Come here, Katniss."

"Okay," I said, cutting in a little too eagerly. We moved together awkwardly.

Johanna still wasn't satisfied. She leaned back, one hand supporting her chin thoughtfully. "Look, give it a little less square and a lot more circle." Peeta pulled me a little closer and led me around a bit more. "There we go," she said, a little more satisfied. "You could turn around, too," she suggested, changing the song to a thumping hip hop beat. I slid my hands to the small of my back and grasped his. He gave me a twirl and I stepped back into him. Not once letting go of my hands, he brought his arms around me and trailed our clasped digits around my abdomen lightly. "Maybe-" Johanna joined in, adjusting the position of our hands from behind him, bringing one set to rest just below my belly button and the other between and just below my breasts, then raised all three of our hands together and back down rhythmically. Instinctively, I moved my body to the hands. "That's it," she cooed. She backed away, leaving us to do it ourselves again.

"Go with me," Peeta whispered in my ear. He raised my hands over my head and turned me back to him. He nodded, switching us back to the cha cha step. Then he stopped, dragged his hands down my back, resting one hand below my butt at the top of my left leg. He tapped his fingers lightly, then raised my leg so my knee was draped over his hip. I closed my eyes and he dipped me backwards in a slow circle, then jerked me back up.

Behind me, Johanna took in a sharp breath. "Alright, enough. I've seen all I needed to see," she said. "It's pretty clear that you're not doing any horizontal mambos, or else I wouldn't have had to inspire that and all," she said, crossiing behind Peeta and winking at me, giving me a look that clearly said 'what the hell are you waiting for,' even if her voice didn't betray it, "so give your boy my number. I have to go see about a place."

"A place?!" I asked. "You're staying?!" I couldn't help but be excited.

"Where else would I go? Gotta keep your ass in check, brainless," she said. "Besides, I gotta see you two win this thing," she slapped Peeta on the ass playfully, hands lingering a bit. "Front and center." Apparently, both of our reactions were amusing. "I'll see ya," she laughed, making her way to the door.

"See ya, hun," I called.

"So," Peeta panted, "she's something, huh?"

I smiled, grateful for her coaching. "Yeah. She's a good time."

He looked at me, then down at the time on his laptop. "So, do you wanna just freestyle like that for a couple minutes, then call it a day?"

"Sure," I said. He queued up a playlist and we got to it. I crooked a finger, beckoning him to me. Now that we were alone, I found myself much less inhibited. I flicked my feet around subtly, remembering to stay on my toes. Peeta kept a hold on my right hand and pushed me back, and I worked in a small circle. I backed into him and he moved our feet in unison. I stepped away, shaking my rear end from side to side, and accenting it with small pushes with my hands. I worked my hair out of its plait and turned back to him, swerving my body to and fro. The song switched to a slower pace; a simple acoustic one with a strong piano underscore.

He carried the two of us around in a dizzying motion. With our bodies this close together, there were no secrets. There were no seperate lives. Simply the wordless unison movements we made. We swayed together. He lifted me up effortlessly, spinning us around. I laughed a little when he put me down successfully, not ending in injuries for either of us. We pushed away simultaneously, but he pulled back a bit too hard, bringing me crashing down on top of him. For what could have been forever, we stayed that way, bodies pressed close together, eyes locked, hearts pounding. I hadn't been this close to anyone but Gale. I panicked. Breathlessly, I stammered, "So, I... uh... I'll see you tomorrow, then?" I pushed myself off of him and stood up, helping him up and walking out the door, forgetting everything I came in with.

It hardly even registered to me that he was calling after me. "Katniss, wait-" he yelled, cut off by the snap of the door. I quickened my pace to a jog and didn't stop until I reached the top of my street, where I sat down, sobbing, trying to remind myself that I needed to be collected when I got in the house. I could take care of my remaining emotions in the shower, but for the time being, I had to at least seem okay.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Hey guys, thanks for sticking with me. Again, I'd like to encourage all of your feedback. :D I'm sorry if Prim doesn't really align with what you guys think she should be, but I didn't want her as distant as the brother in SLP nor did I want her to be a "Little Girl" like Prim seems in a lot of canon. So, she may come out a little o.o.c., and for that I'm truly sorry. Alas, this chapter is a touch shorter than others, but I wanted to get it up tonight and all. So, here we go. Enjoy.

Moments are what makes the long grind of the inbetween worthwhile. They don't happen often. They aren't always something you notice right away. But when they hit, they're strong.

Friday morning, I awoke to Haymitch sitting on the foot of my bed. "Hey, sweetheart. Katniss?" I opened my eyes and took him in, blearily. "Katniss. Where've you been, huh?" Asleep, currently. What the hell did it look like? He came in and found me in bed with my eyes closed and had to wake me up. That's where I'd been. "Look, we've got a situation here." I propped myself up on one elbow, trying desperately to stay awake and involved in the conversation. "We gotta beat the Tributes if we're gonna make the playoffs. Do you realize that?"

That's it. The sun wasn't even up yet and that's what he needed to talk about? I turned over onto my stomach and covered my face with my arms. "No, Haymitch. I had no idea," I groaned.

"Look, having you here's been good luck," he said, reaching a tentative hand out and putting it on my shoulder, probably trying to convince me to roll over. "I think we need to spend some time together, maybe it'll rub off on me?" I heard him laugh at the suggestion. "Maybe it'll strengthen it for you, but I think we need some good juju, here." Luck. Juju. Superstition. Manic behaviors that I was trying to avoid.

Sensing that he wasn't going anywhere, I dug my face further into the pillow. "Alright," I moaned.

He seemed to change position. "Yeah?" he asked excitedly.

"Mhm," I hummed, just a hair's breadth from falling back to sleep. Peeta and I were going to work on the big move today and I really needed to be rested for that, especially if he was planning on dropping me more times than catching me or putting me down gently.

"Look, Katniss," Haymitch said quietly, finally persuading me to roll onto my side and actually face him. "I know... I know things haven't been great for you of late. Well, to be perfectly honest, you've been dealt a really fucking shit hand. But you've made the most of it for yourself, and I don't tell you that enough." He shook his head sadly, turning away from me. "And, I mean, you've had a set back, a big one, but you're not a quitter. That's not you. You're a survivor. And..." he hesitated, clearly troubled by his speech. "I don't know, maybe when you were younger, I didn't pay close enough attention to you, but Prim was so little and your mom... I was so mad. You reminded me so much of your dad- I knew you'd be okay. I don't think too highly of myself to say that I could have kept this from happening to you, but maybe, just maybe if I'd been there for you a little more... maybe things wouldn't be so bad for you right now. I just never knew what you needed." He took a breath and considered me for a moment, as if seeing the emaciated 12 year old again. I reached a sleepy hand out for his comfortingly. He smiled, tears threatening to fall. "You had been taking care of Prim on your own and you saw your mom for who she was. You'd never have asked, and I know you didn't ask to be here, you'd be just as glad to be in a place of your own and being independent, but I just let you do your thing. Maybe it made you feel worse about any signs of this you saw when you were younger, so you didn't say anything... But I really just..." he cut himself off. It became obvious that I'd really done a number on him over the years. He and Effie didn't have kids of their own. I don't suppose they ever really wanted to. But, they tried so hard for us and fell into the roles, seemingly- to us at least, effortlessly. Maybe that hadn't been the case. "I want to do everything I can to get you back on your own two feet. That's why I wish you'd watch these games with me. So we can talk, get into things. Like we used to." He fell silent for a while, before turning back to me. "You girls are the best thing that's ever happened to me, sweetheart. And I only ever wanted the best for you."

I was stunned, moved to tears by his speech. What do you say to that? I didn't have to come up with anything. He knew. He always knew. He smiled, nodded, and patted me on the head, before getting up and letting me go back to sleep. When he reached the door, he turned back one more time, blowing me a kiss. I returned the gesture.

Unable to fall back to sleep, I tossed and turned until the sun came up. Sure, Haymitch and I fought a lot; our ideals were nowhere near on the same page. But did he really think that the way I am was his fault? It broke my heart to think of him blaming himself.

I got up, dressed for my rehearsal with Peeta later and ran my fingers through my hair, braiding it back. I sat down on the floor and dug under my bed, knowing exactly what I was looking for. My fingers hit the familiar cold metal and retrieved it. It no longer held the money from all those years ago, but mementos of a life long since past. I didn't take it with me when I moved in with Gale. I didn't think it was right, or necessary. These memories belonged here.

The coffee can had since been adorned with magazine clippings, Mockingjays stickers, glitter glue, and various other things aesthetically pleasing to a teenage Katniss. I popped open the lid and smiled, dumping it all out on the floor; a picture of Prim and I before my prom, a picture of Gale and I before we left for college, a picture of Effie and Haymitch in the kitchen the first Christmas they had legal custody of us, a strip of photos from a booth at Dorney Park with Gale, Finnick, Annie and myself crammed a bit too close for comfort, a dozen movie ticket stubs, a dried flower, the tassels from my high school and college graduations, and, amazingly enough, two bright silver quarters. I smiled, running my fingers over the items slowly, letting each associated memory wash over me. When I'd stalled long enough, I scooped them all up and returned them to their rightful place. Instead of putting the whole thing back under the bed, where it had lived for years prior, it found a new place on my night table.

When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I was greeted by Effie, Haymitch, and unsurprisingly for this stage in the football season, Chaff. Haymitch gestured for me to take the seat next to him and spoke. "So Chaff, give her the rundown."

"There is no rundown," the man said, turning on him. "You're a moron, that's what." He faced me, an exasperated look on his face. "Haymitch is betting everything on the Tribs game. All the money he needs for the bar- he's betting on this single game."

My face must have relayed my shock well enough. "Tell her why, asshole," Haymitch urged, smiling. It was amazing to me how these two could be so outrageously horrible to each other and not end up at war.

Chaff rolled his eyes, speaking as if he was coached. "Because he believes in you."

I looked frantically between the three people in the room with me. "What? Haymitch, are you kidding?" That's not a valid reason for anything! I'd never given anyone any reason to believe in me for anything past wrenching myself out of bed in the morning and sometimes even that was a struggle. This, though... This was something entirely different. This was something that was entirely out of my hands and somehow it was still going to be on my shoulders.

"I believe in you, sweetheart," Haymitch said calmly, patting my hand gently. "I want you to know that, so I'm gonna bet heavy on this game. Got it?"

Unbelievable. This was really unbelievable. "Yeah," I agreed. How do you tell someone not to believe in you for something they have their hopes set on, no matter how bizarre and impossible it seemed?

"So," he said, clapping his hands together once, then digging in his pocket, retrieving an envelope, "I want you and Prim to go to the game for me."

"You... what?" I asked. He never bought tickets for the games anymore, not since he'd been banned from the stadium.

He smiled, waving the envelope in front of me. "You and Prim. Box seats." I opened my mouth to protest, before I realized he wouldn't have been teasing me like this if he didn't know something I didn't. "She's coming back tomorrow afternoon. You're getting your sisterly bonding time and I know I'm gonna get my win."

"She wants to go?" I shrieked. My little sister never wanted to go to football games, even when I'd showed her a montage of just the best asses on the internet. I didn't much mind, but still.

Haymitch, however, didn't seem aware of this. "Of course!" He piped, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I stood up, moving a bit closer to him. "Even though she hates the violence and injuries of sports?"

"Yes, sweetheart," he assured me.

"You asked her?" I queried uselessly. Obviously he had. Still, I flung myself at him, hugging him tight.

"This is a stupid, stupid idea, man," the visitor interjected. "You know that, don't you?"

Haymitch waved him off. "Chaff, shut up." He grabbed my shoulders, nodding. "We're sticking together on this one, sweetheart." He handed me the envelope, asserting, "Positive energy."

I pulled out the tickets and frowned. "The game's Sunday?" I asked.

"Sunday," he nodded, missing my change in attitude.

Backing away, I put the tickets back in the envelope. "See, I made a commitment to Peeta. We're doing this thing together and it's really good for me, Haymitch. He's good for me," I said steadily. "He keeps me grounded and he really gets me. I never would have thought of something like this, but it's great. I can't break this promise to him. It's important." I wasn't sure when it'd become so important to me, but it really was. I thought back to yesterday and flushed a little. Oh yeah, that's why.

"What is this thing that's so important?" he asked suspiciously.

Effie tagged in as well, eyeing me up. "What is this project, dear?"

"It's a dance thing. He needed a partner, and we work well together." Effie seemed thrilled, mouth poised to ask a million questions that I, glancing at the clock on the wall, realized I didn't exactly have time for. Haymitch, on the other hand, didn't seem even slightly amused. "That's it, I swear. Actually, I have to go or I'm gonna be late for practice as it is. I'll ask him, but I don't know if he'll be okay with letting me skip out."

I couldn't handle the stares anymore, so I took off, heading for the gallery.

We started the day by listening to a cut of music he'd found intertwining several styles, figuring that we could go for playful and fun if our technique faltered. I agreed that that might be our best bet. We went over what we'd already done and then broke for a minute, grabbing a bite to eat.

As time wore on, and we finished our lunch, I realized I still hadn't asked him about the game. "So, listen... I need to ask you something. Sunday, can we cut it short so I can go to the Mockingjays game?"

"I'm gonna pretend you didn't ask so we can keep going," he answered from where he stood, by the trashcan before crossing to me, helping me to my feet.

"Wait, Peeta, why?" I asked, forcing him to stop and look at me.

He rolled his eyes, patience wearing thin. "Katniss, you promised me these two days so we could nail this down. It's not ready and we don't even have a big move TO nail down."

"I know, and I'm sorry. I really am," I apologized, hoping he could gauge my honesty. "I know I suck. But Haymitch opened up to me and I really want to help him out with this. He can't go to the games because he got thrown out one too many times, so he wants me and Prim to go and make sure everything's balanced."

He made a frustrated noise and folded his arms. "What exactly are you and Prim going to do to help? You gonna play? She gonna mend the injured players?" He hit the nail right on the head. I still wasn't sure what Haymitch expected.

Still, I had to play along. There was no way I could let him know I was feeling similarly. "No, nothing like that. He just... Haymitch thinks that me spending so much time here when the Birds play messed up the juju and-"

"Oh, I messed up the juju?" he scoffed.

Backpedaling, I added, "No, no, no, no. It's that I'm not with him. It's not you."

Peeta shook his head sadly. "I should have known..."

"What?" I asked, not seeing what he meant.

"That it would get down to the wire, I'd have a reply from Gale, and you'd start backing out on me, and I'd be back to square one." He looked up at me expectantly.

I stared at my feet, knowing how much this meant to him. I wasn't asking to not come at all tomorrow, all I wanted was to split the time. I'd go to the game, cut out early, and spend the afternoon over here. "That's not what's happening- wait, what?" As I spoke, the wheels in my head ground to a halt. Gale. He had a letter from Gale.

"You heard me," he groaned, gesturing to his laptop bag. "BUT you can't read it until we have and nail the big move. Go." He pointed at the corner and gestured for me to start my walk.

An hour crept by and I kept fucking up big time. Peeta dropped me more often than he ever had before, I stepped on his toes, missed transitions... I was distracted. I needed to know what Gale said. "Look, Peeta, I'm sorry, but I can't- It's in the back of my head and I'm distracted and I can't do anything until I read what Gale said." His expression fell. I plead. "Please? We don't almost have it, and we won't almost have it until I can focus."

With an exasperated sigh, he crossed to his bag and retrieved a simple white envelope. "Alright, alright. Good luck," he said, handing it to me.

"Thanks," I said, earnestly. I pulled out the printed letter and panicked. What if he didn't want to see me anymore? Would that be so bad? What if he did? Could I do it? I didn't feel like the same person I was before- was that a good thing? Wasn't that what he wanted? Would it really help? Before my panic got out of hand, I exhaled a slick stream of breath, focusing on the brilliant man in front of me. "How did he seem?" I asked, more because I wanted to hear Peeta's voice.

"Hm?" he responded. Apparently, he had focused himself on something on his laptop while I pondered.

"When he gave you the letter?" I clarified. "Was he... what was his energy?

He looked down, avoiding my eye contact. "I don't know."

"You're observant, Peeta," I urged. "You had to have picked up a vibe. He's not that tough to read." I looked at him, moving toward him. "I trust your judgement."

Taking me in, he seemed to be afraid of breaking me. Finally, he spoke. "Alright. I'm going to be honest with you, Katniss, because you deserve it. He seemed tentative, excited and a little... I don't know. There was something else, but I don't know how to verbalize it." He trailed off, judging my reaction.

"Tentative?" I asked, a bit taken aback. "About what? Did he say?"

He shook his head sadly. "No, he didn't say anything. Just read it." He gestured at the folded paper in my hand.

I paused, trying to shake my own thoughts from my head. "Ok."

"Try and stay positive," he coached.

"Alright, I'm gonna," I walked around a little, deciding what to do. "Can I read it out loud? Would that be weird?" I asked.

He smiled fondly. "No, go ahead." I looked down, taking in the first lines of print silently, immediately forgetting my decision. "I thought you were gonna read it out," he asked gently.

"Right, sorry," I fumbled, glancing up at him, then back down. "Dear Katniss, It was very emotional for me to get your letter, as I'm sure you can imagine, but I'm glad you took the risk of discreetly getting it to me through Peeta." I gestured at him without changing my gaze. "I hope you're not expecting a lot right away. I still- I still don't trust you enough to let you back in." I paused. He doesn't trust me. "All of that aside, you sound terrific. I must admit, I'm thrilled that you're feeling so good and becoming a more sure and positive person. I was moved to read about your use of 'Panem et Circenses,' and your trust in a silver lining." A small smile crossed my lips and I continued on, a bit more relaxed. "I'm also touched that you'd take the time to read what I'm teaching the kids. Now, I'm sorry that you feel that they're so harshly negative, but I disagree. Great works of art that reflect how difficult life can be can really become a good preparation for them when they inevitably face things like death, depression, disillusionment and other things that you and I both know are out there for them." Did that mean that we had to shove it in their faces, though? Hell, most of them probably deal with enough crap at home. Did they need it in school, too? I refocused on the letter, "Even so, Katniss, I think it's only fair to say if it's me reading the signs, it's not enough. I need you to prove to me that you are really ready to come home. Otherwise, I can't help but think we'll end up back here sooner rather than later and I can't do it again. If that were to be the case, I think, perhaps we might both be better off moving on with our lives separately." There it was. Moving on with our lives separately. His words landed hard, like a punch to the gut. I was prepared for it. That didn't change seeing it. He wanted to split up. "Please, don't jump to conclusions, and don't react to this too quickly. Take time. Think about it. Talk it out with Peeta or Prim. I really am glad you're doing so well. Love, Gale." I reread the letter silently, placing it back in it's envelope and putting it in my pocket. "I think I'm done for today, okay?" I looked up at Peeta. He nodded, walking me to the door.

"He said to show him something, Katniss. This can be that," he said, gesturing back into the studio, obviously talking about the dancing. "You would never have done something like this in a million years. It shows all different kinds of skills on so many different levels: focus, collaboration, discipline. It's romantic, just like I said it would be. It's as much for him as it is for me."

"Yeah, I get it. I get it," I nodded. "Thanks for the letter. I'll see you tomorrow, alright?" I waved over my shoulder and headed back for home.

When I got there, I laid on my bed, rereading the letter for hours, dissecting it and putting it back together; analyzing it and how I felt about it. Finally, after about the 100th read, I decided I was relieved. He'd pretty much made up his mind, so now I just had to deal with it. I folded it up and placed it on top of the coffee can.

Hours passed and I'd forgotten everything prior to the letter, the ball game, Haymitch's heartfelt confession, all of it. Since I'd been home, I hadn't allowed myself the time to shut down and respond to how I felt about my situation with Gale now that I was home and still incapable of seeing him. Now seemed as good a time as any. As the sun crept from the sky, I heard the door click quietly. I sat up and was greeted by an enthusiastic Prim. She flicked the light on and threw herself down on top of me. "I'm sorry. I'm a horrible sister. I should have been here sooner. I'm so so sorry. But I'm done, now. I'm home until I have to go back out for graduation. I'm sorry." She hugged me for a long time, pouncing me as she'd done since we were kids.

"I can't believe you finished a semester early!" I shrieked, wrapping her tighter, not wanting to let go.

"I know! It was so much hard work, but I'm done and I'm all yours." She sat us up, throwing pillows behind our backs and throwing her legs over mine. "I promise. I suck, but I'm all yours."

"Prim, you do not suck," I cooed, pushing her hair out of her face. "This is incredible. This is huge," I said. And it really was. Done her pre-med stuff an entire semester early.

She dismissed my awe and dove, as she did, directly into my life. "Still. So, tell me about this dance thing with Peeta. I didn't even know that you really knew each other," she asked. Right, she would have been friends with him, wouldn't she? They were around the same age. Of course they would have gotten along. He was somewhere between the two of us personality wise, and she got along fabulously with everyone.

"I think we were always in each other's periphery because of you and Annie and all." She nodded, following along. "But we didn't really know each other until a couple weeks ago. We had dinner with Finnick and Annie and hit it off." I shrugged a little. It wasn't really that big a deal, was it?

Prim smiled suggestively. "So, are you dating?" she asked.

"What? No!" I yelped. "No. We're just friends. Good friends. We get each other." I shook my head when she tried to interject. "And he's been helping me sort of discreetly get messages back and forth to Gale."

She gasped. "No, Katniss. That's bad. That's really bad. He could get in so much trouble."

Waving her off, I continued. "I know, but he won't. I actually got a letter back today."

My sister's expression fell. "From Major Dilweed? What did it say?" I reached up onto the nightstand and handed her the letter. She could read it for herself. I was done with it. "'More sure and positive person...' Well, that's true. I mean you are. And I mean, look at you," she gestured. She seemed so pleased. "You look great. I was so scared for you. You looked so... empty. But you look so much better, Katniss." She was right, I supposed. I didn't really remember much of how I looked when I was arrested, less after I was put in Capitol, but it must have been terrifying for her. She turned back to the letter. "'...preparation for them when they inevitably face things like death, depression, disillusionment and other things that you and I both know are out there for them...'" She gasped. "Asshole. You're at fault for most of those in this..." she gestured at the letter, clearly talking to Gale and not me. "Sorry. I'm still really mad at him. I'm sorry. I'll stop. '...better off moving on with our lives separately...' Woah. Alright," she said, her jaw firmly positioned agape. "'...talk it out with Peeta or Prim...' Ick," she responded, dropping the paper on the table, like it might poison her. "Don't even say my name, jerkwad," she hissed, sticking her tongue out. Even though she'd graduated from college, she still called back on the little girl she'd always been. She calmed herself and focused on me, "Okay. So, did you talk it out with Peeta already?"

I shook my head a little again. "No, not really. He told me what he thought, but I didn't really stick around to hash it out. I needed to let it sink in."

"Well, what did he say?" she urged, clearly respecting his opinion. I guessed it would make sense, considering that, until this point, he was closer to the situation.

Rolling my eyes a little, I explained. "That the dance thing we're doing was this grand gesture that could make him see; that it takes all these different skills and qualities that Gale would love to see." I waved my hands a little, unimpressed. I didn't really care what Gale wanted to see anymore.

"Right. And that much is true," Prim agreed, "but you guys were doing this before that, right?

"Well, yeah, before the letter," I said. "But not before before. Gale doesn't really know about any of it." Did he really know much anyway? Maybe Peeta was right after all. He did sleep with someone else. How many times had he done it before and I didn't catch him?

As though she was reading my mind, as always, Prim asked, "Do you think he would care? Honestly?"

I raised my eyebrows a little, shrugged, and shook my head once more. Apparently that was all the response any of this deserved any more. "I don't know," I said.

We sat together a while as Prim took in what I'd said. "You know what happened with Delly, right? And the way Peeta coped?"

"Yeah. It's terrible. I can't even imagine," she looked at me strangely, then back at her knees. "But, we have talked about that, and the dancing, for him, is a different way to channel that energy, and we talk a lot, about all different things. He said he doesn't feel quite so lonely." I felt a familiar warmth wash over me and couldn't help but smile. I only stopped when Prim caught my eye. "What?" I asked innocently.

She laughed. "Nothing, nothing. It just sounds like something you should pursue before... what did he say, what did the lecherous piece of crusty donkey dung say... before you 'react to this too quickly.'" She accented Gale's words with outrageous air quotes, mocking his low tones. "Fucking amoebic sac of cancerous pond scum," she hissed, throwing herself back against the pillows.

"Jesus, Prim. Don't hold back or anything," I laughed. But she was right. He really was a prick, wasn't he?

"Wasn't gonna," she confirmed, a bitter tinge to her normally sweet voice.

We chatted happily for a while about school, the game tomorrow, movies, and other things that normal women in their 20's talk to their sisters about. It all felt so right. Finally, no matter what, things seemed to be falling back into place. Eventually, I glanced down at her phone for the time. "So, look, I have to go get some sort of outfit and then pick up the matching stuff for Peeta. You don't want to come, do you?" I asked, knowing full well that she would.

She stood up, shoving her phone down in the pocket of her jeans. "Do you think I'd miss out on the opportunity to take blackmail pictures of you in like sequined bathing suits and ball gowns and shit? What type of little sister do you take me for?" she gasped, feigning insult.

It was good to have her home.

The following morning, the car ride to the stadium was comfortable, if not fun. As we got closer, I remembered that I still hadn't clarified the time with Peeta. "Can I use your phone?" I asked Haymitch.

"Is it an emergency?" he asked.

I wavered a bit, "Sort of, yeah."

"What kind of emergency?" Prim cooed from the back seat.

I shot her a telling look in the rearview mirror and turned back to Haymitch. "I need to tell Peeta I'm gonna be running late for him today."

"Just don't make him the emergency, sweetheart," Haymitch said, not moving for his phone. He wasn't going to help. "He's nuts and you don't need that."

"He's not." I said, almost embarrassingly like a whine. I'd just have to borrow Prim's later, I decided. Or ask Finnick. Whatever. Doesn't matter. I'd figure it out. "It's too bad you can't come with us, Haymitch," I prodded. "It's almost funny, really, that you're sending me in where you can't go because you got thrown out for starting fights, when I'm in legal trouble for reacting similarly." From the back seat, I could swear I heard Prim's heart stop. She'd never gotten used to our teasing. Especially now, since we'd both been removed from it for so long, she seemed floored. "Guess I got more from you than you think, huh?" I added.

"Is that so horrible?" he asked, pulling into the drop off zone.

"No. No, I think it's kind of great," I said honestly. They both smiled.

Haymitch turned to us, imparting words of wisdom. "Look, just don't get into trouble. Don't drink too much, don't hit anybody, you'll be alright," he said, urging us out of the car. We said our goodbyes and headed into the parking lot. As the car disappeared from sight, we moved a bit closer together, navigating through the crowds for our intended target.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Story's wrapping up soon. Just one more chapter and the epilogue to follow. Thank you so much for following with me. Your reviews and follows have been fabulous and I'd love to keep hearing from you as the story draws to it's end. Also, I had a question- if there were moments from this story that you maybe wanted Peeta, Prim, Gale, Haymitch, Finnick or anyone else's P.O.V. on, what would they be? Would anybody be interested in that at all? Drop me a comment in a review on here or over at jackingbackpeeta OR notalone91 on tumblr. So, again, forgive the canon deviance. I'm gonna throw out a sexual violence TW here because, in this universe, the fight is over a different drunken antic than race. Basically, I couldn't see it being over a racial slur in this incarnation. Anywho... Happy reading!

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Tailgating is supposed to be the quintessential American gathering; alcohol, junk food, forced social interaction, people attacking each other with their entire body weight over a lump of animal skin, and football, too. What's not to love? To be fair, I wasn't judging or anything, I just think it's funny.

As we perused the crowd, looking for our safe haven of familiar faces, Prim checked through the plan with me for the 10th time since we'd gotten out of the car. "Alright, so we're meeting up with Finnick and his boys, right?"

"Yeah," I answered, keeping my eyes forward and one hand on Prim's.

She didn't seem convinced. "Did they say where they were parked?"

"D-13, right by the truck with the three finger salute coming out of the cab," I repeated. That would have been a good way to explain it if the lot was labeled clearly and there weren't similar adornments on one in every 4 vehicles.

Speaking of, as we walked past one such vehicle, this one a converted u-Haul truck, a shirtless man painted in Tributes colors scaled the side of it and began to perform vile acts on the sculpted hand. As he did, the group that came in the truck began rocking it, shaking him down. "Guys are weird," she said, all too calmly.

"Come on, Prim, we'll just have some fun. We don't even have to go in if you don't want. Haymitch won't really know. We'll see how we feel." I fiddled with my pin, fastened on my shirt, and smiled. I really didn't want to be here anyway. I wanted to spend the time with her, but I still felt guilty about Peeta. Peeta. Right. Fuck, I still hadn't called him. As soon as we find Finnick.

Reluctantly, Prim gave a slight nod and said "Alright."

We snaked our way through the crowd and found ourselves face to face with a man, face completely obscured by a painted on Mockingjay. He made an exaggerated cheer of the four note tune used by fans when the team scored a goal. It was only then that I realized that I did recognize him. "Dr. Aurelius?!" I called.

He turned back to face me and it was clear that that's exactly who it was. "Katniss Everdeen!" he called at me in a sing-song voice all it's own, utilizing the cheer tune, pulling me into a tight hug.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, dumbly. I was just shocked. Obviously, he was here for the game.

Before I could amend my question, he answered honestly. "We gotta kick some Tribute ass is what I'm doing here!"

I laughed, looking over at Prim, suitably floored that this man was allowed to practice medicine. "I'm... isn't this illegal? Seeing you outside of sessions?"

"Today, I'm not your therapist," he answered. "Today, we're simply a family under the wings of the birds," he threw his arms around us and called out the familiar four notes again.

Avoiding the slosh of his beer, I asked, "You're a little drunk, aren't you?" I kept my voice playful.

He nodded happily. "A little, a little. I'm happy to see you, though," he clapped me on the shoulder and then gestured to my sister, still frozen under his arm. "Is this the famed Primrose?"

"Yeah, yeah. Prim," I said, calling her to stand next to me, giving her reason to not have him touching her anymore, as she was clearly uncomfortable with, "I want you to meet my therapist, Dr. Aurelius."

"Call me Winston," he slurred.

"Winston? Really?" I laughed. I don't know what I'd imagined his name was but that certainly wasn't it. Winstons sat at home, listening to NPR and drinking a single scotch neat before bed in their Main Line mansion. Winstons definitely didn't drink piss warm Bud straight out of the can with their face painted in an inner city parking lot. Not that I'd spent a lot of time imagining either scenario, but you know what I mean.

"Nice to meet you, Winston," she laughed awkwardly.

I couldn't leave him to wander alone. I shot an apologetic look at Prim, hoping we wouldn't be alone with him long. "So, do you want to tag along with us. We're looking out for my friend..."

"PRIM!" Wish granted.

From behind us, Finnick's voice carried over the crowd and, before I knew it, my sister was running at him, throwing herself into his arms. "FINNICK!"

She adored him. Secretly, I'd always hoped they'd get married, but he was head over heels for Annie before Prim was out of the boys have cooties phase. We crossed over to his group, made the introduction rounds and began to loosen up. When the dancing was brought up, I became a very popular new friend to be made. Someone popped on an old boom box and we were off. I'd have certainly been happy to keep doing this and not go to the game. As I switched partners, I caught glimpse of a shaggy red bob. I made my way over to her and wrapped my arms around her waist.

She turned around quickly and, upon realizing it was me, she threw her arms around my neck. "What're you doing here, brainless? Shouldn't you be trying to nail Peeta? I mean, nail the big move with Peeta?" she asked, never the one to be curt.

"I know, I'm going over after. I have to be here for a little bit. I promised Haymitch." I explained. She shot me a questioning look but let it go. "Look, are you hanging around, I'd love for you to meet everyone."

Time passed and I made my way around to Finnick. I figured, it was getting close to game time, I'd call him now, go in, stick around through the first quarter and blow. In and out, no problem.

Problem. "I actually don't have his number," he said, flicking through his phone.

That was hard to believe. "With how often you guys see each other?"

He shook his head, not knowing what I meant. "I don't see him that often, Katniss. But, look, I'll tell you what. Why don't you call Annie." He handed me his phone, then put his hands up in surrender. "I just, today, I'm not talking to Annie. I'm my own man today." He yelled his last sentence, to my embarrassment, and was met by cheers from the men all around us. Gross, I thought.

"Wait, why don't you wanna talk to Annie?" I asked.

"'Cause she brings me down, Katniss. She brings me down and I'm not gettin' down today." He plopped down on the gate of his truck.

Oh no, not them too. "Look, this has gotta change, man. You're not gonna throw your marriage away on my watch. There's love there. I used to see it. And that beautiful little boy of of yours? Huh?" He shook his head sadly, looking down into his beer. "No, Finnick. I won't allow it. You two have the picture of the perfect life from the outside. You just gotta fix it on the inside. It got broken, but you gotta fix it. Like a doctor." I knew it wasn't really my business, but I couldn't let him go down the path I was. "Give it a little R&amp;R. What I prescribe is some serious TLC for you and Annie." He rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to protest. "No, listen to me! I know what I'm talking about. It can't be awkward anymore. You need to..." Incentive. That's what he needed. I thought about it for a second, and I remembered how upset he was that his two childhood best friends had split up. "Look, do it for me, huh? If you two can't make it work, what hope do I have?"

"You're right." He laughed, wrapping his arm around my neck and kissing the top of my head. "You are hopeless," he mused.

"That's not what I fucking meant and you know it," I hissed, wriggling out from his arms and sitting next to him, landing a soft punch on his arm. "Asshole."

"Lookee here. What's up, gorgeous?" came a stranger's voice. I looked up, and my stomach dropped. He was talking to Prim. The guy was tall and blonde and muscled and circling my sister like she was lunch. He reached out and grabbed her from where she was standing with Johanna and Dr. Aurelius.

"Oh no," I whimpered, grabbing Finnick's wrist and gesturing at the scene with both of our hands, hoping he'd see it the way I did. Prim could be in trouble.

Like her normal, friendly self, she smiled genially. "Nothing much, you?"

"What're you doing here with Grandpa?" he asked, pressing himself against her menacingly. "Why don't you come to a real man, huh? You know I'll make it worth it." He grabbed her jaw and forced a kiss on her.

Then, the mongrel's friends gathered around, watching the show and cheering him on. My superstar little sister, not having any of it, clamped her teeth down on his lip hard. "Piss off," she spat when he recoiled.

"Ooh, this one's got a mouth on her, don't she?" the predator called, pushing her up against the minivan next to them. "Fucking bitch!" Prim scratched and fought. Dr. Aurelius was on his phone, I can only assume with the cops. Johanna was singlehandedly taking on the 3 guys coming in to back up their boy.

I stood up, knowing this was going to get ugly fast. My impulses were always to protect her. Finnick shoved me back. "Katniss, I got it," he said, springing into action. "Get your hands off of her!"

"Katniss, stay back," Prim yelled, locking eyes at me.

Finnick and Johanna fought their way to her, more like a team than I'd expected two strangers to be. "I know, Prim. I won't. I'm not gonna do it," I called, pulling myself up to stand in the bed of the truck.

"I'll fuck you right here and now, you little whore," the guy said, loud enough for me to hear.

"That's enough!" Johanna screamed. Finnick reached the asshole first. He had him by the collar and was starting to pull him off, but he wouldn't let go of her.

"Dude!" he yelled, kicking at Finnick and momentarily stunning him. Johanna helped him back up and they were back at him.

But they weren't fast enough. As soon as Finnick went down, I'd lept to the grown, flying through the crowd and planting myself between them. "Get the fuck off my sister, mother fucker," I growled, throwing my elbow into his stomach with all of my weight. And he stumbled backwards.

"Holy shit," Finnick gasped, catching the guy and quickly locking his arms behind him. A good thought, but that didn't keep him from kicking his long legs up at me. And there was still the problem of his friends, closing in on the group of us.

All hell broke loose. Punches flew everywhere from all sides.

"Katniss, no," Prim whelped from behind me, where I was involved in a scuffle with a guy who tried to pin both of us against the van for his friend to deal with when he broke free of Finnick. Johanna had been restrained by a guy she'd been dancing with. She managed to wriggle free of him and appeared at my side.

With the blood rushing around my body and all of the yelling, it was understandable that none of us heard the sirens. Either that, or they'd already been onsite. Either way, we were fucked. "You're all coming with us," a bulky cop yelled with an air of finality. He must have been yelling a while because by the time he got to me, Finnick, the attacker, and all but one of his friends- the one I'd been going after, were all in handcuffs. I was next. The rest of our group came quietly.

Fuck. We were going to the police station downtown.

Even though I hadn't really been drinking at all, there was no way this was going to look good for someone who was trying to get their shit back together.

Luckily enough for us, we didn't have to spend the night. The other bastards weren't afforded the same luxury. All of our stories lined up and it was clear that our brawl was in defense, if not a bit out of hand. Exiting into the cold night air, we made our way out to the taxi that had been called for us.

Our group piled out of a cab, tentatively taking the steps to our front door. Prim entered first, followed by Dr. Aurelius, then Johanna. Finnick and I brought up the rear. It was much later than we'd anticipated, so I was already feeling bad enough about having blown Peeta off completely. I wasn't exactly ready for this. Finnick clasped my hand tight and released it. It wasn't the first time it'd happened, but this would, with all hope certainly be the last.

No more trouble like this, and certainly not where we come crawling back through this door with our tails tucked between our legs. Besides the decade that had passed, and the fact that my little sister now joined us, there was one thing that made it clear that things would never be the same. Our spouses didn't stand beside us this time, as they'd done the last however many. I guess everyone was right. Trouble did always start with me and Finnick.

The first time we'd gotten in trouble, we were 16. My mom had decided to pop back into town on a lark. She'd needed money and come to see if she could snake some out of her kids. Prim had just had a birthday and mom didn't stop by for that. No, she came to ask her daughter if she'd gotten any money for her birthday. Prim told her she did, but before she could ask for it, I stood up, taking a $20 out of my wallet, dropped it in front of her and told her not to come looking for us again. When I heard the front door click, I knew that was the last time I'd be in the same house as her; likely the last time I'd ever see her. I took my little sister's hand and walked her right up to Haymitch and Effie's room, asking them to make sure she didn't sleep alone tonight, since she was crying. That was the first time I'd ever felt that rage. I didn't want her to see me that way. Annie had made her way into our group for the first time, turning the trio that was me and my boys into a foursome. Despite the fact that Finnick had been mooning over her since she spilled her lunch tray on herself in the sixth grade and called it Splattered Couture, she'd only recently started giving him the time of day. I still wasn't super comfortable with her, but I needed them all tonight. I called Finnick and asked him to swing by and get me, since he was the one with the license. When I explained the situation to him, he asked what I wanted to do. We went and picked up the other two and drove to a little lake up in the mountains where I remembered my dad taking us when we were little. We talked until the sun came up, swam in the lake the next day, shirking our school responsibilities, and came home late the next night. The first stop we made was my place, all four of us walking in together. Finnick took me by the hand and let the other two go in first. We got laid into pretty hard, but ultimately, we'd gotten away pretty light. The biggest thing that Haymitch and Effie asked us to take away from it all was that we should have told them where we were. They also stressed the importance of us going to school, but under the circumstances, they expressed gratitude to the other three for being there for me, still managing to scold Finnick for helping with the transportation.

This instance was a little closer to the second time in execution, if not initial conflict. Same players, fast forward to the summer after high school. We were 18 and all leaving for college in less than a week. We'd each made a basic bucket list of things that were mandatory for the four of us to do together before we went away. Most of them were simple and fun- go to the beach for a whole weekend, go to a concert, spend a whole day doing nothing. Those were the basics, yes, but two stuck out as a little more worrying and harder to come by for 4 teenagers with no experience in obtaining them: get high, get drunk. When Finnick and I saw the last two on each other's short lists, we'd exchanged a ridiculous high five. I stole the booze from our basement. Finnick never did tell me where he got the pot. And we went back to our spot at the lake. Having planned ahead, we'd managed to secure 3 whole days for ourselves. We laughed and drank and had a great time of it, but knowing we only had a little bit of weed, we saved it for the last night, as a go out with a bang type of thing. In the decade since, I've come to look back on this night fondly, even though it's silly how big a deal we made of it, but this was our big rebellion before we made our commitment to our futures. Fondly, I say hesitantly and meaning only before the next bit. Apparently, our noise had gotten carried away at some point, and we'd drawn enough attention to ourselves that police had been sent out to investigate, finding four stoned teenagers laying in the grass staring at the stars, surrounded by empty liquor bottles, sleeping bags, and trash bags, containing food waste and condom trash. They joked about not being invited to our party, but still took us in anyway. Though we didn't get more than a slap on the wrist, when we made the trip back into the house, Finnick held me back again, this time kissing me on the top of the head before clasping my hand. We both knew this was going to be a bigger blow out. There was some screaming and crying, name calling and generally unfair reactions all around. Most vividly, I remember Finnick nearly coming to blows with Haymitch, calling him a hypocrite for the way he spoke to me. We were all wrong, in our own ways, and we knew it then, almost as well as we knew it now.

Even in our past experiences with it, we could never have been prepared for what lay on the other side of the door. We were full fledged adults now. How could it possibly be worse? "What'd you do? What the hell happened?!" Haymitch yelled, blowing past everyone else and coming straight for me.

From where she was seated on the stairs, Effie muttered a careful "Haymitch-" She'd been the one to answer my call, and I made her swear not to tell him exactly what happened. His temper was nearly as bad as mine and I knew that if he'd heard the circumstances, he'd be on the steps of the courthouse to do worse to the guy when he came out those doors. She obliged, knowing deep down that I was right. Still, she didn't like keeping things from her husband, especially things she thought omitting would make worse.

"What the fuck happened?" He asked again, arms framing me against the wall. "I trusted you!" He brought his fists heavy against the wall with a resounding thud. I'd never been terrified of him before, but in this moment, he wasn't himself. I couldn't help but wonder if I looked this terrifying standing over that poor naked woman in the hallway, or even earlier that day with- no, well, he deserved it.

Voice unsteady, I tried to interrupt, "Haymitch, I-"

He leaned up, pacing around the room. "The Birds lose, I lose a fuckin' fortune to Chaff." He gestured at the man sitting smugly at the table. I had to remind myself not to wipe that cocky ass grin off his face later. "What the fuck did you do? I thought you said you had it together. You were solid. You lost it!"

I squeaked a little, not sounding very convincing. "I am solid! Haymitch, they were trying to-"

"You fell apart. What are you talking about, solid." He made a frustrated hand gesture at me, but if there was any significance to it, it was lost on me.

As he sat in one of the chairs at the table next to Chaff, Dr. Aurelius interjected. "Mr. Abernathy, if I may, Katniss was trying to protect-"

But Haymitch was having none of it. "It's all fucking ruined now. It's over and I'll never get that money back." He looked at me like it was all my fault.

That was the part that hurt worse than any of the bruises developing all over my aching body. "Haymitch, will you listen for a god damned second so we can explain?" I yelled, gesturing at Finnick, Prim and myself. I'd have included the two members of our group sitting at the table, but he didn't know Johanna or Dr. Aurelius, so I doubted very much that they'd be able to help.

"Come on, Haymitch. Listen to the girls," Effie plead.

He looked back at her, startled. "What could they possibly have to say to me?" He turned back to face me, clearly the 'they' was just customary. He wanted to hear it from me.

I exhaled, bringing my hands up to wipe my face before I started. "The guys we fought were harassing and threatening Prim."

"They what?" Haymitch asked, looking as though one of those elbow jabs had just landed on his diaphragm.

"You heard me," I said, crossing my arms. "They had her pinned against a van. One at first, but by the time we got him off of her, there were a whole bunch more. We got them off and kept them away from her."

"Haymitch, I swear," Primrose spoke sweetly, crossing to him. "Katniss was the last one to jump in. It looked like it hurt her more to stay away. We tried to keep her out of it. We all did." She made a sweeping gesture around the room. "I mean, hell, this guy's her therapist."

"It's true, sir," Dr. Aurelius confirmed, though at the time, I was pretty sure that'd not be the case anymore soon enough.

Finnick stepped toward Haymitch calmly, all traces of the boy I'd been in trouble with before so many times before gone, "She didn't do anything wrong-" He looked at me with a smile. "She certainly didn't do anything we're not all accountable for and, if I may, she didn't do anything that- and I think I speak for all involved when I say this- that we wouldn't all do again if it came down to it." There were varied tones of agreement, most notably a 'Fuckin' 'A right.' from Johanna.

Just as everything began to calm down, the front door opened and slammed.

"So, who the fuck is this now? Who is this?" Haymitch asked, turning to find Peeta plowing toward me.

I wilted. I should have known this was coming. My mouth opened to speak, but instead, he began, "We need to talk. Right now! When you make a promise to someone, you know it's not fucking cool to just not show up." He took another step closer, eyes flitting between my own and my split lip. "You said you were gonna be late. I figured on as much. That's fine. I mean, it's not fine, but I could have lived with that, but to not fucking show up? That's not cool, Katniss."

"Wait a minute, Peeta!" I cried out, defending myself. "I tried to call you, but you know I don't have a phone of my own. I tried, but Finnick and Prim didn't have your numbers. I was gonna call Annie but then everything-" I made a spiral motion with my hand and then gestured around me.

Haymitch was fuming. "Who is this? What the hell is he talking about?"

If he heard Haymitch, he certainly didn't show it. "Oh, really? You tried? Tried isn't good enough here, Katniss!" he yelled, pounding his fist against the wooden chair.

"I'M SORRY!" I screamed. "Look, everything got fucked up today and I'm sorry! I fucked everything up for everyone and I get that. But, I told you I was going to split the time. But, at the game- we, Dr. Aurelius, Finnick, Prim and me- we..." I gestured around a little tentatively, not knowing how to explain it.

"Well, that's nice for them," he said, cutting me off. "But what about me? Huh? They didn't all make a promise to me in return for my help." Them. Right, other people. In the room. He looked around and took in the people staring at him. "I'm Peeta, by the way," he added briefly.

"What is the deal with this Peeta Mellark business?" Haymitch asked, raising his beer to his lips.

"There's... Haymitch, I told you what this was," I groaned. I was pretty sure he didn't ever listen to me. "We talked about it. Numerous times, we talked about it."

He wasn't happy with that answer. "He's nuts. When you started spending time with him, it all fell apart." He pointed at Peeta accusingly. "This is the fucking reason right here." Finnick and I started to protest, but we didn't get the chance. Peeta was more than capable of defending himself.

Apparently, he came in with a plan.

In mock surprise, Peeta gasped. "You think I fucked up the Mockingjays' juju?" He smiled wickedly, turning to face Haymitch and only Haymitch. A few of us, knowing both of their tempers, exchanged worried glances. Only Johanna remained unworried. Truth be told, she was actually eyeing Peeta hungrily. But he didn't seem to notice. "You do, don't you? You think I'm why today happened?

"Yes, that sounds right," Haymitch nodded.

Needing to hear it one more time, he asked again, "I'm the reason?"

Growing tired of the conversation, and trying to make his word the final one, he growled, "I think so, yeah."

There was that wicked smile again. "Let's talk about that." His eyes flicked dangerously around the room. "Finnick, what was the score of the game the night we had dinner at your house?" He responded with a confused stare. "No? No idea?" He looked up at me. When I didn't have an answer, he turned back to Haymitch. "The Mockingjays beat the Miners 40-26. No sweat. The next time we went for a run, the Seam City Rebels beat the Eights 7-5 for the NLCS in the baseball game."

"That's true," Finnick said, apparently remembering the numbers.

"The next time we went for a run, the Mockingjays whipped the Presidents 27-14." He counted off on his fingers. "The next time we saw each other, we went to the diner and the Rebels dominated the Muttations in the fourth game of the world series."

"The 10-2 game?" Dr. Aurelius asked, incredulously.

"The 10-2 game." I confirmed behind him.

He let out a hiss that sounded an awful lot like a drawn out "Shit." And 'Shit' was right. Every time Peeta and I had been together, every Seam City team had done well. Why hadn't I thought about that?

"Let me think about this for a minute," Haymitch said, pacing around.

Peeta wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of thinking on it for a minute. If he did, he might decide to argue. Luckily, there was more. "Well, while you're at it there, sir, why don't you think about when the Mockingjays beat the Fishermen 14-7."

Haymitch looked at him expectantly. "She was with you?"

"She was with me," he said, backing up to me.

Next to me, Finnick queried, "Really? That's nuts. You guys see each other that often? And you're not sleeping together."

I shot him a glare, accompanied by an icy, "Finnick..." and he shut up.

"Since Katniss and I have been working together every day, there have been no games." Again, this was true. For someone who hated football, he sure followed it well. "Had she been at the gallery with me, where she was supposed to be today, she wouldn't have gotten in a fight, she wouldn't be in trouble, and maybe, just maybe, the Mockingjays would have beat the fucking Colorado Tributes." Secretly, I resented the fact that they were arguing about me like I was some token, but I guessed it didn't really matter. They both deserved to be angry. Sure, Haymitch didn't exactly have the right to be angry with me specifically, but he deserved to be angry.

"He's making a lot of sense, Haymitch. That is right," Prim said quietly from the stairs, checking through the stack of newspaper clippings Haymitch had left. She didn't follow sports, so she couldn't pull up the numbers like we could. Plus, having not been here, she wasn't aware of any of the dates.

A few moments of silence passed, and Peeta spoke again. "Just on the off chance, do any of you happen to know what the unofficial motto of the state of Colorado is?" He looked around, focusing in on me briefly before looking at others. "It's on their seal. On their flag? Anyone? How about you Haymitch?" Getting no response, he turned back to me, making a grand, sweeping gesture akin to that of an orchestra conductor. "'Panem et Circenses.' Look it up."

"Katniss," Effie cooed from where she and Prim were seated. She could see the distress on my face. Immediately, I internalized it. This couldn't be my fault, could it?

"Not that I give a flying fuck about football or your weird ass superstitions," Peeta continued, "but if it's me reading the signs, I don't send the Mockingjay whose mantra is Panem et Circenses to a fucking Tributes game. Especially when she's already got enough on her plate." He walked over to the table and sat down next to Johanna.

"Jesus," she said, taking him in.

I asked the burning question on everyone's mind. "How did you know all of that?"

He reached into the center of the table and popped open a beer. "I did my research." He took a swig and drummed his fingers against the neck.

The room fell into expectant silence. All eyes were on Haymitch, except Peeta's and mine, locked only on each other. I was terrified that he would hate me, but the more he looked at me, focusing in on each scrape and bruise, his gaze softened. I wanted so desperately to apologize, to get him alone and explain everything, but I knew it would have to wait. "Well, I have to say, I'm impressed. I didn't trust you before, but you've certainly convinced me."

I was shocked. "Oh, now you're cool with him?" I'd only spent the last couple of weeks trying to tell him, but as usual, my word wasn't good enough.

"Yeah. I think so," he nodded, disinterested in my query.

Chaff, stood up, crossing to the man. "Look, Haymitch, I feel terrible, you know. I won a lot of money in a bet from you and now look what happened. Your whole world's turned upside down."

Peeta rolled his eyes, buying it as little as Haymitch and I did. "Oh, go to hell Chaff. You fucking live for this shit. You've been betting against my father for years and I've got scars from my mother to prove it." He didn't get up. He didn't really even change his expression, but I could tell he wasn't lying.

"Scars?" I asked, getting no response. "Peeta?"

He shook his head, standing up to face him. "You're twisting the knife right now. You get off on this sort of shit!" Clearly, his presence was irritating enough to Peeta.

"You're out of your depth here, kiddo. You have no idea what you're talking about." He responded threateningly, taking a few steps to Peeta. "Don't you dare say that kind of shit about me."

"You get off on it!" he said, enunciating each of his words deliberately. "If not, prove it! Give him the chance to win it all back, double or nothing." He gave a smug smile and walked in a tight circle.

"No. No no nonononononono. Peeta, no," I begged, rushing to his side.

Chaff opened his arms in a wide 'so what' gesture. "Double or nothing on the Luxurites next week? Is that what you're saying?" he asked, nonplussed.

Peeta merely shook his head, taking a deep swig of his beer.

"Then what? What are you suggesting, boy-o?" he asked.

"Against the Peacekeepers." The entire room gasped. Well, there was no denying it now- Peeta certainly had brass ones. The Peacekeepers were the Mockingjays' biggest rival. Their biggest local supporter that we knew? Chaff. "That's your team, isn't it?"

"That's exactly who his team is and we all know it," I said.

Peeta smiled at me, snaking his arm around my shoulder and leaning on me. "I know." I knew it was bravado, but the fact was that I was really grateful for it. Even if he was still mad at me, he wasn't going to be gone. I laced my fingers with his, presenting us as a united front.

"When?" Chaff asked, as though that made a difference.

"December 28," he answered. "Last game of the regular season. Same day as the dance competition Katniss and I have been working toward; the Flickerman Freestyle Footlight Foray." He cringed a little at the ridiculous title.

"Oh my god," I said, looking at him out of the corner of my eye. If he was right about the earlier events, and there was any credit to our being together for the games, there was a chance that this could work. I could have kissed him. Still, this wasn't a good idea and my morale fell, repeating "Oh my god."

Chaff fell silent, weighing the odds in his head. Unhappy with the wait, Haymitch prodded, "Oh, come on Chaff, I thought they were your boys."

"Don't you believe in them, Chaff?" I said innocently, batting my eyes.

He stepped toward us and said "Yeah, I believe in them, but if I win, you're out of action." He turned to Haymitch. "No bar, no nothing. Do you think I'm the kind of prick that could live with myself like that?"

"Yeah. I do," Haymitch said flatly. "I like it. The odds are in my favor here," he said, gesturing at the pair of us. I dropped my hand away and stepped over to lean on the table.

"No. Haymitch, no." Effie was right. This was bad. What if it didn't work?

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Prim stepped down off the stairs and lined herself up in front of Haymitch. "I don't think this is the best way-"

"I believe in the birds and more so, I'm betting on her." He pointed at me. "I believe in Katniss. I'll take the action." He proffered a hand to Chaff.

"Haymitch-" I said with a warning tone, voice bordering on a yell.

He seemed unmoved. "I have faith."

"I know, but listen to me," I mused, walking toward him, putting myself between the two older men. "This is toxic. I really-"

"What do you say, Chaff?" He asked over me, pushing me aside, adding "Shut up a minute, you already did enough." I stumbled back into Prim, who wrapped her arms around me as if it had all been planned. "What do you say? My birds... favored by what is it, a point and a half?"

This was enough. "Haymitch, stop it."

"I'll give you 3 more," he said, ignoring the protest.

"Haymitch, no," Finnick said, groaning at the mere idea of this bet. It was ludicrous.

Abandoning the task of swaying Haymitch, I turned my efforts elsewhere. "Chaff, I'm begging you, please don't take this bet."

Adding to his trouble, he thought for a second before concluding. "Fuck it, I'll give you ten. Ten points." Johanna and Dr. Aurelius, who'd both been uncharacteristically silent up until now began chatting at each other about how bad this really was.

"Haymitch," Effie warned.

Peeta crossed his arms and nodded. Haymitch seemed to take this as a good sign. "You have to take that bet."

"Would you stop him, Effie?" Chaff said, not sure how to handle this. "Take him up to bed before he hurts himself."

"Jesus!" I hissed at him as Effie began to maneuver her way to Haymitch, tugging at his shirt sleeve.

Still, he protested, as we all knew he would. "I'm not going anywhere, damn it. How could you not take that bet?" He stood his ground, gesturing to Peeta. "Even with the ten points, that's an insane spread to your advantage. Peacekeepers are puppets. I've been telling you that for years. And you're so tangled in the strings, you won't take the 10." He directed his attention back to Chaff. "Plus, are you listening to me? Plus whatever their score is at the dance thing. What's the deal there?"

Enough was enough. "Haymitch, absolutely not. I can't let you do this." I stepped to him, but rethought it turning back to look at Peeta. Even he seemed wary of this new development. That was all I needed to know I was right. This was a really fucking stupid idea.

Even Chaff agreed. "No, you're too drunk and emotional right now. I won't take the points," he paused, "though I do like the sound of a parlay. You might be on to something there."

"No. No parlay, no," Effie said, tugging at her husband.

"Don't do it. Haymitch," I said, throwing my hands in the air. "I'm begging you here. Don't do this."

Chaff was unmoved by my statement. He spoke to me deliberately, trying to get my attention away from Haymitch. "Katniss, how do they run this dance competition? Is it scores, votes, percentages, timed? What?"

"I don't know," I shrieked, looking fast between the two older men and Peeta. "I don't fucking know. We're just participants, Chaff. We're not a part of the rules. This is a high profile thing. These are real dancers. Don't do this. This isn't fair." I crossed to Peeta, who returned his arm to my shoulders, this time comfortingly.

"They go by the Seam City rules," he answered, voice even. "Each pair of dancers is scored on a scale of one to ten, ten being the highest. You have to average the four judges' scores."

"So, one to ten," he nodded, expression saying 'simple enough,' "And you guys are how good?"

"We suck," I said. It was true, and mostly thanks to me.

Peeta shot me an incredulous look. "We do not. Katniss is a beginner," he said, resting his palm on my chest. "I'm okay. We're lucky to even be going."

Needing all the information, Chaff asked, "And the others?"

"Good," Peeta said in earnest. "Professionals, some."

He nodded. "So, better than you?" His tone wasn't mocking or down-grading. He was merely asking.

Peeta made a noncommittal shrug and I nodded, eyes wide. "A lot better." I wasn't going to lie to him.

"So, if you only have to score a five, I would be really very generous, right?" he asked.

"That would..." I stammered, thinking about it. A five. 50%. "I'd be floored, to be honest. That would be amazing. Let's not get carried away..." I didn't mean to sound skeptical, but it was true. If there were professional dancers...

"Shut up," Peeta said, furrowing his brow when he turned to me. "We can get a five. Gimme a break."

"We cannot get a five," I urged. I'd missed today's practice. We still hadn't nailed the big move. We still had almost a minute to choreograph. There was no way in hell.

Haymitch sighed, "Give them five."

"We can do a five," Peeta confirmed.

"What are you talking about?" I asked Haymitch. "You've never seen us dance! How could you possibly say that? And you," I turned to Peeta, backing away tentatively. I was a little scared of how quickly he found himself supporting this ridiculous addition. "You know as well as I do..." but my words were irrelevant.

"So that's it. That's the parlay." Haymitch said, offering his hand to Chaff again.

"Can someone please explain the point of a parlay to me?" Johanna asked.

Finnick leaned forward so he could see her properly from the living room. "You have to win both bets or you lose it all. For Haymitch to win, the Mockingjays have to beat the Peacekeepers and Katniss and Peeta have to score a five at this dance thing."

Dr. Aurelius nodded. "That is very, very manic indeed."

"That's the parlay," Prim groaned.

"Shake on it," Haymitch prompted. Chaff obliged.

I'd been trying so hard to distance myself from this kind of behavior for the benefit of everyone I loved, I didn't stop to think about what it actually felt like from the outside. I couldn't let this happen. I couldn't be at the center. This was going to be the end of it. "I'm not gonna be a part of this. Chaff, you're a sick, sick man. And it's contagious. You're a fucking disease and I won't be a part of it. I'm out. Guys, I'm done." I headed for the door.

Peeta reached out for me, trying to get me to stop. "Katniss, you can't quit."

"I'm not doing the fucking dance. If I don't do it, they can't make this stupid fucking bet. I'm done," I told him. It had nothing to do with him, it really didn't, but I couldn't be a party to this. I couldn't handle being a part of the reason Haymitch lost everything.

"Katniss, calm down," he plead, seeing the panic in my eyes and grabbing my hands.

"No," I roared. He stepped back, shocked. Tears welling in my eyes, I turned away. "I'll see you around." I hoped that was true.

"Katniss, no." Prim said. Normally, her voice would have broken me out of it, but I was determined.

Effie chimed in, "Where are you going?" Of course, she knew I wouldn't answer.

"Katniss..." Gale called after me. I merely waved him off.

Johanna got up to follow me, but she didn't have the chance. "There we go again, sweetheart," called Haymitch. He was taunting me. "Giving up when victory is within your grasp. You can almost taste it and you're gonna let it go."

It didn't make sense. That was in no way what I did. "What does that even mean, Haymitch? This," I emphasized, waving between him and Chaff, "has nothing to do with me. This is all you and I'm not going to enable this sort of shit anymore. I'm not gonna do it. I'm sorry, but you can't make me." I sounded like a petulant child, I'm sure, but I needed to get it through to him that I wasn't here for this.

"Look, this is not you." Peeta said, stepping toward me. Johanna shook her head at him and grabbed his wrist, retaining him from getting closer. He faltered a little, but didn't give up. "This is not the honest, determined person you've become and, if it's me reading the signs-"

"Oh, if it's you reading the signs?" I yelled, in mock clarity. "You're reading the signs? You're just as bad as they are, Peeta." I didn't mean that. Sure, he was fanning the flames, but this wasn't his fault. He just, apparently, didn't get the gravity of the situation. But I wasn't going to be the one to explain it to him. I'm sure he would have understood, but I just couldn't do it.

I walked out the door, letting it slam behind me. I hesitated on the porch to regain my bearings.

"Katniss!" came Effie's voice.

"You can't do this, Katniss!," yelled Peeta. "You can't walk away like this."

Haymitch was the only one who sounded mad. "Katniss, come back here!"

Headed out into the night, I went for the first place I thought of. The park. One thing Peeta said kept ringing in my mind. 'But if it's me reading the signs...' Where had I heard that before? '...reading the signs...' I repeated over and over and over, and then it hit me. The letter. The letter wasn't from Gale at all. It was Peeta. It had been Peeta all long. Everything fell into place. Finnick's comment about not seeing him all that often. Why it came when I needed it most. The way that it said absolutely nothing specific, but just enough to inspire me to make a decision. I sat down on the curb. What did it mean? Had he given the letter to Gale at all? Did it really matter? There was nothing he could have said at that point that would have elicited a different reaction. It was over between me and Gale. I supposed that I'd known it all along, but I just needed the suggestion. I smiled a little, comfortable with the realization. It almost seemed too clear that it was Peeta that I really wanted. But why would he lie to me about it? What did he really stand to gain from it? Suddenly, I remembered his mention of scars from his mother and I thought about another instance of a mother acting like that. And a little boy with bright blue eyes. And the two coins in the bottom of the coffee can. Peeta. The silvery painting. Of course! It was so obvious. He was trying to tell me that he remembered. He had to have been. Maybe he didn't know it was me. No, he had to. He was the one that saved me. Even after all these years, he was doing the same. I had to pay him back.

I knew exactly what to do.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: This is it, folks. The last chapter. Thank you so much for sticking with me. The epilogue will probably be up tomorrow. Hope you enjoy conclusion!

* * *

If I had known then what I know now, maybe I wouldn't have taken so much time to arrive back home. Everyone who didn't live there was gone. I climbed the stairs, truly exhausted, and found Primrose slumped against the bottom of my door, waiting in the hallway for me. I smiled down at her and helped her up. She hugged me and pulled me into my room. We didn't talk much, both a little worded out from the day. Instead, we decided on a game of chess. Eventually, though, we got bored of the way we predicted each others moves, making it impossible to get anywhere. We laughed a little, and I laid down on the floor. It wasn't long before she was laying with her head on my stomach, like she did when we were little. I played with her hair, remembering yet again how much I'd missed having her around. "How much do you remember before we moved in here?" I asked a while later.

I felt her move to look at me. "Not a lot. More from what you've told me than anything else."

Propping myself up on one elbow, so as not to aggravate the one that was now home to a bruise the size of a grapefruit. "So, do you remember the Kool-Aid sale the night Haymitch found us?"

She wavered a bit. I could sense that she remembered a little, but was trying to sort out what she actually remembered of her own volition. Finally, she settled on a "Sort of?"

"Do you remember the first money we got?" I prompted.

She nodded. "Yeah, it was Chaff, I think. And then he told Haymitch..."

"No, no, before him," I said. Maybe I'd been imagining it after all.

"Then, no," she concluded.

I guess it was better to not know. "Alright," I said, returning to my flattened position.

"What's this about, Katniss?"

Focused on the ceiling, I decided I might as well tell her. "Do you remember what I said about Peeta always being in my periphery?" I could feel her nod against me, so I continued. "Well, he said something the tonight, about scars from his mom."

"Yeah, she's..." Prim affirmed, not knowing how to phrase it. She tried desperately not to paint anyone in a bad light, no matter how much they deserved it, so she decided on a watery "not a very nice person."

That much I'd gathered. "I know. But, before Chaff, there was this woman with three little boys. I remember recognizing the oldest one. He was my age," I said, musing over the boys faces, "then there was one that reminded me of you and one in the middle. Is that the right ages for Peeta's brothers? Do you know?"

"I think so," she said, unsure. In all the time we spent together, I hadn't bothered to ask.

"Well, she hit the oldest and the youngest, the older for giving the little one money and the youngest for trying to talk to us. I just... I've never forgotten the little boy's eyes." I zeroed in on a speck of dust in the corner of the room and spoke to it, not sure if I wanted to hear Prim's thoughts on it after all. I guess, now, that my aversion to it meant that my mind was made up about it after all. "And the other night, we were in his gallery, and I looked at Peeta and, I saw them again." Yes, it was definitely him.

She sat up and turned to face me, tucking her knees to her chest. "Do you think that, maybe, you're projecting?" I knew she was going to go here. She cocked her head to one side, and explained, "You're seeing Peeta as some sort of savior, like you do if that's how you remember the turning of events that led to life getting better for us?"

"I don't know," I lied, knowing well that that wasn't it at all. "Maybe..." I climbed up into my bed and, instead of going back to her room, she climbed in with me.

Two adult women sharing a twin sized bed doesn't exactly promote a good night's sleep. I was already up, thinking about how I was going to explain to Peeta that I wanted to keep doing the dance, but we couldn't be a part of the bet, when Haymitch's voice boomed up the stairs. "Katniss, you have company. Come down here, please." I climbed carefully over Prim, not wanting to wake her, and headed downstairs, curious as to who could possibly be down there for me.

I'd just about convinced myself that it was a trick, when I saw him on the couch. "Peeta," I breathed.

He looked wracked with guilt. I studied him carefully as he spoke. "So, I wasn't gonna bother you about this anymore. But I thought you'd like to know..." He hesitated, looking up at Effie, who gave him a comforting nod beside Haymitch's 'go on' gesture they thought I couldn't see. "I talked to Gale. He said he already bought a ticket for the competition. He's gonna be there. He wants to see you. This is your shot. I know you don't want to-"

Lies. Lies, lies, lies. Part of me wanted to hear what story the three of them had cooked up. But he looked so sweet and upset by the fact that he was saying it, I felt obligated to help him out of it before he dug himself in deeper. Maybe, just maybe, he wanted me too. So I interrupted, "No, I was gonna come see you anyway. I do want to. Fuck the bet. We've been working really hard, you know?" I smiled warmly at him, which seemed to make him more uncomfortable. "If he loses the bet that I fought him tooth and nail not to be a part of, that's on his head, not either of ours." Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Haymitch's disappointment. "We'll get kick ass scores, but we'll do it for us." No, not us. "For you. You want this, don't you?" I asked.

"What about Gale?" he asked, disappointed.

I wanted to tell him then. I wanted to say 'fuck him and the horse he rode out on' but I decided watching him squirm for the next couple weeks, only to relieve him of it would be more satisfying. "Yeah, of course. That makes it all even better. Perfect, even." I embellished.

"So you'll do it?" Haymitch asked from behind me.

Not even bothering to give him a glance, I kept my eyes trained on Peeta. "Absolutely." That was the first of the times I almost told him I knew.

The next morning, I jogged into the gallery. Peeta hardly looked up. "You ready?"

"Yeah. Sorry I'm late," I said, smiling at him. That morning,

His expression was abnormally dark. "It's cool," he said, turning away from me and getting the music set.

And I almost told him I knew.

The days progressed toward the 28th. We'd come so far, and even with the amount of guilt Peeta seemed to be putting himself under, we were nailing the big move every time. I was starting to feel really confident.

On one of our breaks, as we stretched out tired muscles, he turned to me. "So, are you really not worried about the bet?" he asked.

I took a sip of my water. The bet, right. "Of course I'm worried. It's bullshit that he forced us into it like this, but I mean... the bar's something he really wants. And I guess it means we have to save him from himself." I stood up and crossed to where he stood. "And it sucks that you got roped into it, too. It's stupid and it's toxic and I'm really pissed about it and I believe that he needs to know that... But it's who he is and I can't spite him for it. And, to be honest, even if we win, there's no promising that the ball game is gonna go his way, so it might not even matter." Peeta seemed a little dejected by this. I took a deep, steadying breath and took his strong hands in mine. "I say we do this our way, do it well, and have a blast and even if it doesn't go our way, we have no regrets."

I looked up into his eyes and saw no trace of lightness in them. It was almost as if this lie was taking him away from me. "No regrets?" he asked me skeptically.

"None," I confirmed, smiling as surely as I could.

He held on a little longer than I'd expected him to. "You think we're gonna win this," he said, more to himself than to me.

With a nod, I said the only thing that came to mind. "Real." That much was true. Call it woman's intuition, call it blind faith, call it gut instinct, but I really thought we'd do it.

And I almost told him I knew.

The 28th rolled around. We ate dinner at my place with Haymitch, Effie, and Prim, drinking a toast to our impending prosperity. Peeta and I went up to my room for a little bit to run through it one more time and then get dressed. He wanted to go get changed in the bathroom. I insisted that he stay with me, teasing him that I didn't want him to chicken out on me.

Partially, too, I was testing him. I wanted to see if he still had any glint of the interest he'd shown in me prior to this massive fiasco. When I stripped down to my underwear, his subtle and ashamed stare encouraged me. I slipped on the off white white pants and crop top with lightly rainbowed sequins that Prim and I had settled on, with a shirt the same color and suspenders and bow-tie that matched the accents. As Peeta busied himself on the bowtie, I took the time to rather less subtly stare at him. "This isn't working," he said, growing angry at himself for small things. "Stupid," he hissed when his next attempt came out looking more like apron strings than a bow tie. "Fuck it." He stopped fidgeting with it and rubbed his temples.

"Come here, let me," I said. Now, I didn't know how to tie a bow tie either, but what I did know was how to fasten a safety pin and I knew how attractive bow ties looked untied. I grabbed a few out of my night table drawer and beckoned him to me. "Come on, everything's gonna be great," I coaxed, undoing his top 3 buttons and flattening out the small strip of fabric, then sliding my hands under his shirt, picking a few key points to attach it. "You guys said Gale's gonna be there, right?" I teased, knowing how horribly he felt. Still, he nodded. "So it's meant to be. Everything'll be alright." He seemed so deeply pained at the situation that I almost felt bad taking the piss out of him. But, he kind of deserved it. He closed his eyes and we both stood up, surveying each other one last time. "You okay? Don't get all wobbly on me. I don't think we can handle a drop," I winked, knowing that he would never drop me.

"I'm not," he answered, taking my outstretched hands.

I hugged him tightly, "We have a dance to do, a bet to win, a marriage to save- we gotta stay focused." I patted him on the chest, playing up the absent minded card a little too much. I picked up my dance shoes, which I'd cleverly attached together with a carabiner looped through a scarf, and handed them to Peeta to hold while I threw my coat on and grabbed an envelope off my bedside table, shoving it in my pocket for later.

He opened the door and waved me out into the hallway ahead of him. When I looked back, he seemed so hurt. I regretted how thickly I'd been laying it on and decided to tone it down a little for the rest of the night.

And I almost told him I knew.

We reached the Flickerman and immediately found that I'd been right. We were way out of our depth. Even so, I couldn't have expected this.

A man and woman were working on a foxtrot in the center of the lobby and I couldn't help but get distracted at their practiced synchronicity. "Wow," I cooed, staring open mouthed.

"Shit," Peeta hissed, pulling my attention to another couple working out what I recognized as an Argentine Tango from one of the youtube videos Peeta'd shown me a while back. If I were in less control of myself and my faculties, I'd have been worried about drooling, or perhaps reaching out to touch. Grabbing my hand, my partner dragged me along to the bar, where the ball game was playing and Haymitch had already made a beeline for it.

He called out to the familiar face in the crowd. "Chaff, what do we got?"

"Tied up with another field goal. 3-3." he answered, snaking his way out of the mass of people.

"I'm worried," Prim said flatly.

Haymitch remained unmoved. "Don't be."

She shrugged him off. "I'm gonna worry, no matter what." And that was certainly a fair stance.

Noticing the pairs that had begun to work around us, Haymitch let out a soft "Hoo-ly Shit. What is this? Dancing with the stars or something?" He reached out for Effie, pulling her closer.

"You knew that, dear," she answered. "Maybe you should have listened to Katniss," she suggested lamely, taking Prim by the hand and going to take their seats in the ballroom.

"Look at these dancers!" Chaff laughed. He landed a smack on Haymitch's arm and added, "You know, you could just give me the money now, save us all the trouble."

He ignored him and turned to me. "Katniss. Katniss, all we have to do is get you a five. That's all. No big deal." Peeta and I both nodded, turning for the stairs to the sign-in table. "Stay here and watch the game with us," he said.

"The Birds do better when Katniss is with me," Peeta growled. He had no time for Haymitch anymore, and I didn't really blame him. "We've settled this."

"Stay for the quarter. Please?" he asked, pathetically.

I reached out my free hand for his steadily. "Relax, alright. It'll work out. I'll see you in there." And with that, we turned away.

We didn't get far before we were greeted by Johanna, her date, Dr. Aurelius and a woman I assumed to be his wife. "Hey, brainless! And sexy man meat dance partner," Johanna

"Hey," I answered, hugging her, shaking the two strangers' hands, and receiving a kiss on the cheek from my therapist. "Alright, wish us luck, guys," I prompted, crossing my fingers at them, then dropping my hand down to my side, lacing my hand back together with Peeta's.

"Keep it up, you two!" the doctor called at us.

"What's this?" I asked, swinging our hands up between us playfully as we climbed the stairs.

Even the acknowledgement of our bordering on intimate gesture didn't seem to cheer him up. "I don't know. I thought you were doing it," he answered flippantly.

"No, I thought you were," I laughed, insinuating that it just happened. He tried to tug himself away, but I clamped down a little harder. "What difference does it make. We're gonna have our hands in a whole lot more indelicate places in a little bit anyway. No harm, right," I smiled turning him back to face me. As soon as I did, he seemed to get more upset. I grabbed his other hand and asked him quietly, concerned, "You okay?"

"Fuck," he cursed looking past me, down the stairs, then back into my eyes. He shook his right hand free of me and raised it to my jaw, face suddenly very serious. Still, as he spoke, he softened. "Okay, I want you to remember everything. All of the good stuff we have here." He smiled for the first time in days.

"Of course," I nodded. And I almost told him I knew.

He directed me over to the table and said, "Why don't you check in? I have to go find Annie and Finnick." Without so much as a hesitation, he was off, back down the stairs.

"Alright. Tell them I said 'hi.'" I called, to no avail. When I reached the person at the table, I greeted them. "Hi! Checking in. Everdeen and Mellark. How many teams are there total?" I asked idly. It was a bit odd to be here without him next to me. I didn't really know what to do. This was his thing.

Not sure where to wait, if not in the ballroom, that's where I went. I stood against the wall sliding off my flats and putting on my dance shoes. "Team of Cinna and Portia, up on deck," a man with bright blue hair said enthusiastically. That just had to be Cesar Flickerman. I laughed to myself, wondering if he realized just how out of place he looked.

As the judges readied their cards for the pair next to the announcer, my breath stilled in my chest. She was so tiny and he was so big, he could have danced her around without her ever touching the floor. I'd have bet they had no problem with lifts. "And the scores for Thresh and Rue are: seven point six, seven point three, six point nine, and seven point four for an average score of seven point three." A seven point three? Holy shit. That's not much more than what we needed to win. If people who seemed like they had their shit together were getting low sevens and I didn't even know where my partner went, that couldn't bode well for us. "Now, coming to you from our dance floor, I present to you, Cinna and Portia-" The man drewd out their names ridiculously, making them sound like luscious game show products.

Then, they appeared- The Argentine Tango couple from the lobby. Yet, that wasn't the dance they were doing? Why would they do that? To psyche people out? Either way, they were doing a dance in 3/4 time that looked like something out of a Disney movie. I suddenly felt ashamed of the outfits we'd picked for Peeta and myself. Sure, we looked good- hot, even- and had age on our side compared to these two, but... wow. I found myself wondering if they'd had those outfits custom made by mice or something.

Snapping myself out of my line of thought, I remembered that I still hadn't found my own partner. I crossed to the table where Effie and my sister were seated and asked "Have you seen Peeta?"

"No, why? He's not with you?" Prim asked, startled. "Where is he?"

"You have to go find him, dear." Effie said, jerking her head not-so-subtly in the direction of a table across the floor where sat Finnick and Annie... and Gale. My heart pounded. Was that why he'd taken off? I know they hadn't really planned on him being here, so what was the deal?

"I know. I know," I said, taking off to pace the room looking for him. He couldn't have just skipped out, could he? Where could he have gone? I thought about it and then saw him, perched on a stool at the bar with some sneaky looking redhead. "Hey, what's this?" I asked, draping myself on him a little possessively.

The woman spoke, calmly but firmly. "He's fine. He's with me," she purred

I stood up, eyebrows arched, taking the stance of someone on a crappy reality show about to rip someone's earring off. "He's fine?" I snapped.

She smiled at me, unaware of how close she was to no longer having those pearly whites. "Yeah."

Returning the smile, I queued up my most venomous tone, Why don't you shut up, alright?" I turned my attention back to him. "How many drinks have you had?"

"Two," he said, a little more teenage-angst in his tone than I'd have appreciated, but it wasn't the time to argue over that.

Grabbing him by the wrist, I dragged him out of the bar. "Come on, Peeta. Listen, I don't know what choices you've made, but you gotta deal with it right now, okay? We're in this. But, you're lucky," I said with a smile I meant to be warm and sincere, "because we're in this together."

"Next up, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark," came the sickeningly cheesy voice of the emcee. We walked to the edge of the floor.

When we got there, he turned to me. I suddenly came to the realization that two drinks was more than enough for him. "You know, I used to think you were the best thing that could ever happen to me. I used to worship the ground you walked on. Even before that, I couldn't take my eyes off of you. Now, now I think you may be the worst thing and I'm sorry I ever threw those coins into that fucking coffee can." I smiled at him, which seemed to make him angrier. But he didn't know that he'd just confirmed what I already thought I knew. It was him. "I never thought anyone could make me wish for physical pain over emotional. I hate you. I don't ever want to see you again.

"Not real." That was the last time and closest I came to telling him I knew. I remembered that we had more important things at hand. And I was pissed at him for putting us in a delicate position here. "But, good for you... I'll let you think that for a minute, then we have to do this thing.

"And the scores for Portia and Cinna are: six point seven, eight point one, six point five and seven point five for an average score of seven point two." Though I'd been paying more attention to Peeta, I did notice that those scores were really low for what I thought they'd deserved. Especially from the third judge. She was going to be the one to make or break us.

Next to me, I noticed, Peeta having some trouble doffing his jacket. I grabbed for it, and when he protested, I said, "No, I've got it." It came off swiftly and I tossed it at Haymitch, who'd just burst in the door.

"Up next, ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark." Thankfully, Cesar didn't turn our names into anything more than names. The crowd cheered for us, a little more than enthusiastically from a certain table. I tugged Peeta out on to the floor playfully, just as we'd planned.

When the crowd died down, in the space before the music started, I heard Johanna call out, crystal clear. "Let's go, Brainless!" People around her must have given her discerning looks, because it was followed by an innocent, "What?"

While we waited for the music, I could see Peeta's anger softening. I quirked my head, almost imperceptibly, and gave a crooked smile.

The music led in with a slight drum beat with simple piano. I arched my back and, holding our frame, Peeta dipped me back dramatically. I'd been against this, for our first move, but he swore it was a great way to give us a prep period before we actually started moving, plus people loved watching the female dancers' hair drag around. When the rest of the instruments kicked in, I was back upright. Lifting my arms above my head, he twisted me around and back to where we started. I crooked my leg around his and dropped to the floor, dragging it up between his and circling back around him, bringing our arms back up to their L-shape forcefully.

We moved in around the floor, travelling with the simple cha-cha step he'd taught me the first day we danced together as the singer started crooning. We punctuated every couple of steps with a flourish, winding up side by side with our arms extended dramatically. We returned to the travelling step, this time, ending with Peeta pulling me on my toes toward him, eventually bringing me to rest on the toes of my right foot, bending my left leg up over his hip. He looked down at me with a playful smile and braced me to him with one strong hand under my rear end and spun us around more gracefully than he'd ever done before. When he put me down, we pushed away from each other in one controlled movement before he twisted his arms, bringing my back to rest against his chest. We swayed left and right together, my hands travelling up into his hair. When I closed my eyes, we were back in the dimly lit gallery, alone. That image put me at ease. He brought his right hand up to meet mine and, followed me in a playful chase around the ballroom before I spun around gyrating my hips. He reached for my hands, snapping our bodies back together, and slid his hands back to my hips, as I punctuated the air at varying angles along with the brass instrumentation.

The audience gasped as the music snapped to a strong electric rock. In a stroke of genius, on Peeta's part, we'd decided to cut together a few songs because we couldn't decide on one style. This song allowed for much more freedom, and we both really enjoyed dancing to it. We jumped up into the air and thrashed our heads around, as if at a concert, before deviating into a rigid ballroom dance I remembered him calling a quickstep. Our backs were straight and our arms locked as we circled the room elegantly. When the singer started his count, without losing our upper bodies' positions, we jumped toward and away from each other, in what probably looked like a really intense round of couples Skip-It. Tucking me under his arm, I circled around Peeta. Then we moved next to each other in a jumpy cross step, ending it with a heel click. Into a different style, we faced each other, my hands over his, we stomped mirroring feet and shook them up before switching and doing so with the alternate. When we worked on this "jive" step, and I'd finished laughing at Peeta's hokey slang, it had almost all come to a devastating halt with a poorly placed shot between his legs. I paid more attention and didn't make the same mistake again. When we finished, he grabbed my hands and swung me through his legs. I rolled onto my side and swung my leg up over my head, which had started out as a joke but he decided it was 'really good' and definitely worth keeping in- which I figured meant he wanted me to keep doing it, and he grabbed my ankle and made sweeping guitar like movements against it, both of our tongues flopping out in a "hard rock" type expression. He pulled me up and spun me around rapidly, before we resumed our earlier frame and darted around the room. With a half turn, I dropped back, kicking my leg up as high as I could and Peeta elevated me back to standing. I darted around him playfully and he grabbed my waist, folding me into another comfortable, and all-too-intimate-for-in-front-of-people back to front pose.

Another change in the music saw a change into a sweeping instrumental version of an 80's rock song. We waltzed for a few measures, our faces close together, circling the floor gracefully in stark contrast to the previous section. He pushed me away, swaying together for a moment, arms moving dramatically over our heads. He held my hand and spun me tight. Then, I draped my arms around his neck, swinging one leg up the side of him, then bringing the other to meet it, bringing them back down, and back into our default step. We looked into each other's eyes assuringly, though my stomach was in knots. When he let go of me this time, that would be it. The big move. Our arms dropped and I turned away, spinning to my corner. Peeta backed to his. We took a moment to brace ourselves. As the music swelled, I took off running toward him.

But it didn't work. Not like we'd planned. Either I didn't jump high enough, or Peeta didn't get down low enough, but what was supposed to be something like a straddle in the air became much more... sexual, through our blunder. I crooked my leg over his shoulder, trying to maintain some chance of a decent score. Everything had been going so well and we blew it on the big move. Haymitch's bar. The whole bet. My chance with Peeta- he'd never speak to me again. You could hear audible gasps as Peeta struggled to figure out how to get me down. After what seemed like forever, we managed to slide my dangling foot close enough to the ground that I could swing the other back down. He dipped me backwards again, resting his forehead on my chest, long enough to find our spot in the music. He coached me into the barrel roll from there, both of us spinning backwards. Then we finished with the standard jerky two hits into a dip.

When the music faded out, we walked tentatively to the stage next to Cesar. Our only hope was that they might judge the newcomers and amateurs a little more leniently, especially if they took into account how ambitious the move we failed at was. But that was a pipe dream. I mentally prepared a long apology to Haymitch, and another to Peeta, who still hadn't let go of my hand.

Mr. Flickerman spoke from next to me. "Alright, then, let's see those scores. A four point two, a four point nine, a six point three, and a four point seven for a total score of five point zero." There was a polite smattering of applause, but nothing too noticeable. A five.

"Holy shit," I breathed, looking up at Peeta, unsure if I'd heard him right.

"That's a tough blow, guys, I'm sorry," spoke the previous male dancer from behind us, Cinna.

From the crowd, the first audible voice wasn't a cheer. It was an angry Chaff. "Oh, come on," he yelled.

I let out a piercing scream and threw myself at Peeta, who carried me over to where our little section was now standing, cheering.

"HAYMITCH!" I screeched. "Did the Birds win?"

"Mockingjays won 44-6," He cheered, kissing me atop the head.

"Come on!" Chaff yelled again, throwing his napkin down on the table.

Peeta put me down to hug me close. "We did it," he said, over and over.

Baffled, Cesar addressed the crowd. "It seems that they're ecstatic about a five. Who'd've thunk, huh? We'll take a 10 minute break." The room began to break off into spontaneous chatter, with some confused looks from the people around us.

"Thank you, Katniss. You're amazing," he said, blue eyes sparkling again.

I shook my head, emphasizing my own, "Thank you." I debated kissing him, but instead decided to go for a hug, knowing that there was one last thing I had to take care of before telling him everything.

"Of course," he said, sweetly. "I told you I wouldn't drop you."

We both laughed, capable of acknowledging the blunder now that we were on the other side of it, safe from the repercussions. "It seemed close for a second there." I swatted at him playfully. Then, it happened. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Finnick, Annie, and Gale stand up at their table. I pressed my palm flat against Peeta's chest and looked back at him sadly. I walked over to the three of them hugged Finnick and gave Annie one of those awkward half handshake clutches. Then, they walked off, leaving me standing alone with my husband for the first time in nearly a year. "Thank you for coming," I said. "How are you?"

"Doing well, Catnip," he said, pulling me into a polite hug.

I pulled back, unsure if this was some sort of set up. I shook the thought away, "Is this okay?" I didn't want to mention that hearing his old pet name for me made my stomach churn, but it really did.

"How are you?" he asked.

"Really, really good, thanks," I affirmed.

He smiled, looking me over. "You look good. You look happy."

It was true. I was happy; the happiest I'd been in a long time, just as soon as I could get this over with. "Yeah. Dancing, huh? Who knew, right?" I shrugged.

"You look incredible," he said, incapable of taking his eyes off me. Suddenly, I was more than a little uncomfortable in what I was wearing.

"Thanks," I said, draping my arms across my bare stomach.

He nodded, finally looking up at my eyes. "You've been taking care of yourself," was all he could manage.

This was it. I had my opening and I had to take it. "Yeah. I'm on medication, I'm in therapy, I've been reading your books, I have a positive attitude now." I took a breath and leaned in a little closer, hoping not to have anyone overhear us. My voice was hardly above a whisper, so I positioned myself right next to his ear. "And I realized that we were never meant to work out. I'm not in love you anymore and I really hope that you're okay with that. I hope you find someone who you don't have to change to be with. Someone who makes you as happy as Peeta makes me." He turned his head to me slightly, a strange smile on his face. "I have a meeting with my lawyer on the 3rd. Let's not make this any worse than it has to be." I finished. He nodded, leaning down and kissing me on the cheek, before turning and walking away. I watched him go. I can't explain to you the intense feeling of relief when you're finally free from the ties that bind. I turned on my heel, smiling broadly and crossed to where I'd left Peeta. But he wasn't there.

Haymitch, Effie, Chaff, Prim, Johanna, Dr. Aurelius and their dates were standing in a small circle by our table, but he was nowhere to be seen. "Where's Peeta?" I asked, hoping he went to the bathroom, or to get a drink while I undid the buckles on my shoes and stepped out of them. It had to just be something little and dumb and he'd be right back.

No such luck. "Gone," Haymitch said, accenting it with an expression that could have meant nothing but 'Duh.'

Still, I needed clarification. "What do you mean gone? He left?" I backed away nervously.

"He left! What did you think would happen, sweetheart?" he exclaimed.

How could I have been so stupid to think that he wouldn't see me walk right over to Gale. That was what he'd expected me to do, and now I'd flat out gone and done it. He was gone and I wasn't going to get my chance to tell him how I felt. "Where is he?" I asked, turning in a quick circle.

"Look," Haymitch said, grabbing me by the arm and pulling me over to the side, away from everyone else. "I know I've fucked up in the past. I know you don't want to listen to me. I didn't want to listen to anyone when I was your age either, but I'm telling you. You gotta pay attention. When you get handed something like this, like this thing you got with Peeta, it's a sin if you don't reach out and take it. It'll haunt you for the rest of your days, sweetheart." I nodded. He didn't need to tell me. "You're at a crossroads right now. That boy out there loves you for you." He gestured at the doors Peeta had, presumably, walked out of. Knowing that, in recent days, he liked him a whole hell of a lot more than me, I readied myself for a long winded lecture on my shortcomings. To my surprise, that wasn't the case. "And you deserve that. He doesn't want anything from you. He doesn't want to change you. And I don't know if that was ever the case with Gale. But it's sure as hell not the case right now." Tears welled in my eyes, as he spoke. I needed to chase him down, but I couldn't bring myself to interrupt Haymitch. "I'm telling you. Don't fuck this up. I know you." My breath hitched in my chest. "You won't be able to live with yourself."

I smiled. I guessed, after everything that happened, he really wasn't mad at me anymore. "I love you, Haymitch," I said, pulling him into a tight hug.

"I love you too, sweetheart," he said, patting the top of my head. When we broke apart, he grabbed Peeta's jacket and mine from a chair and thrust them at me, sending me off with a commanding "Go."

Like something out of a fairytale, I burst through the ballroom doors and descended the staircase, trying desperately to get my flats to go on and stay on.

There's a special breed of panic that courses through your veins when you can feel the one person you want so desperately slipping through your fingers. When that happens, and you're running alone through a strange part of town at night, you can't help but feel a little on edge.

My footsteps pounded the pavement on the abandoned streets. There was no way to be sure that I was headed the right way. All I knew is that he didn't have that good of a head start on me and I was faster than him.

None of it mattered, because coming into view ahead of me was an all-too-familiar ashy blond haired man in tight black pants and an off-white shirt with sparkly suspenders. "Hey!" I called after him, picking up my pace.

"God, why can't you just let me be?" Peeta cried out, not letting up his run.

"Wait a second! I have one more letter I need you to read," I said, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him back to me.

He loosed an exasperated, throaty groan. "What the fuck? What is wrong with you?" He asked. "He was right there! Stop rubbing my nose in it and give it to him yourself!" Peeta was right. It did, from someone who wasn't me, look like that.

Still, I knew what I meant by it and he had to give me a chance. "No," I said resolutely.

"No?" He took a step back, surprised at my sudden stance. His eyebrows arched high, curiously.

"Just hear me out," I said, taking the envelope out of my pocket and waving it in front of him. "You don't ever have to see me again if you don't want to- after you read this letter. Alright?"

He scoffed a little, taking the letter and shaking his head, eyes a little watery. "This is so fucked up," he attested.

I draped his coat over his shoulders carefully, then stuffed my hands down deep in my pockets. "Yeah, yeah. Just read it."

With a sigh, he began aloud. "Dear Peeta," his eyes darted back up at me, questioningly. I merely nodded back at the paper. He rolled his eyes, reading again. "I know you wrote the letter. I know Gale isn't coming," his shoulders slumped and he wiped away a tear. Apparently, he'd really thought he'd done a bang up job of hiding it. "The only way... The only way you could meet my crazy..." he trailed off.

Instead of forcing him through it, I decided to take over, having memorized it anyway. "Is by doing something crazy yourself. Thank you. I love you. I knew it the minute I met you. Before, I think." I found myself close to yelling and brought it back down, closing some of the space between us. " I think, a long time ago, you were someone I thought of as a symbol of change, of renewal. I'm sorry that you've experienced the worst things life has to offer, but somehow, you've survived." Peeta seemed absolutely dumbstruck by my words. He'd never expected any of this from me, I don't think. "I'd like to be to you what you've been to me since you threw that money in our coffee can a long time ago. A good thing to come. Real." I paused, wiping away a tear from my own face. "I'm sorry it took so long for me to catch up. I just got stuck. Katniss." We stared at each other silently for a moment, before I finally worked up the energy to add the last thing I wanted to say. "I wrote that a week ago."

"A week ago?" he said, tensely.

I whispered a weak, "Yes."

"You let me lie to you for a whole week?" he yelped, bringing his hands to cover his face in frustration.

"I thought it would be romantic," I offered lamely.

He paced around a little, clearly trying to come up with something to say. "You did this incredible thing for me and I couldn't..." he gestured in my direction, but I didn't catch it's intention. "I fucked it all up," he said, bringing himself to a stop. For someone who usually had such a way with words, he was sure having some trouble tonight, though I will admit that was nice and concise, even if it was 100% wrong.

"I didn't do anything, Peeta," I said, moving toward him and wrapping my arms hesitantly around his waist. For the first time, I really allowed myself to get lost in his embrace.

"God, Katniss," he said, shaking his head. "You never give yourself enough credit. You should hate me. I couldn't even bring myself to give him the letter and give you the chance to be happy with your... " he pulled back for a moment, finally internalizing everything I'd said in the letter. "Wait... You love me?" he asked, his blue eyes searching mine desperately.

"Yeah. I do." I answered, smiling again. "Do you?"

"God, yes," he breathed.

"Okay then," I said, pulling his mouth down to meet mine, finally.

We stayed there for who knows how long, allowing ourselves this moment of unabashed, unhindered, unadulterated bliss, knowing once and for all that this love was real and ours.


	11. Epilogue

A/N: So, this is it, for now. I have a few ideas I'm kicking around for other POV chapters. But, for now this is it. Hope you've all enjoyed it and please, feel free to drop me a line or let me know if you have any ideas about what you'd like to see. Also, in case you were curious, the songs in their dance medley were Michael Buble's cover of Save The Last Dance For Me, Jet's Are You Gonna Be My Girl, and Vitamin String Quartet's cover of Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want.

* * *

Normally, the epilogue is where there's a time jump and you can see what's elapsed in the time since the actual story. I don't think I can really do that well. It hasn't been all that long. Would it surprise you to know that as of two days ago, I am a divorcee? Probably not. Would it surprise you to know that, much to my elation, Prim has decided to take a semester off before med school and that she wants to stay closer to home? Not really right? Would it surprise you to know that I am dating Peeta? No. Would it surprise you to know that, for the time being, I am still living at home with Haymitch and Effie? I'd bet not.

So there you have it. Not much has changed since the dance competition. I'm sitting at our dining room table with a journal in front of me, finishing it up so that I can give it to Dr. Aurelius at my next session, day after tomorrow. That's a change, I guess. I'm only seeing him twice a week and they've lowered my dosages. My divorce from Gale was quick and painless. We didn't have a prenup, but neither of us really had much to speak of going in, anyway. With no kids, no mutual assets, no property, and not even so much as a goldfish to argue over, we parted ways on Friday. I told him to swing by today for a beer and some of the game, but I doubt it'll happen. I suppose I'll always miss him. He was my best friend before any of this started. Who knows if I'll ever see him again?

It's superbowl Sunday and the birds are the favored team. This time, it doesn't really matter. We're all here just to enjoy the game. No bets, no juju, nothing but casual enjoyment.

Haymitch is on the phone with the men about the bar. He wants to have it open by Memorial Day. Everyone thinks it's too soon, but he's determined. I'm so proud of him. He's been so focused and level-headed. I think he'll do it. And I know that once the bar opens, it'll do well. When it does, there'll be no one happier for him than me.

Chaff's still a little prickly about the bet, but deep down, I think he knows it's for the best. He knows it's all happening because of him. I can't allow myself to think, even for a second, that he'd deny something so inherently good for his friend.

I'm starting to smell food coming from the kitchen. Effie recruited Johanna into helping out and, to my surprise, she seems to be on best behavior. She's been asking questions and playfully prodding at Effie for hints. I don't think I've ever seen her so happy.

Prim and Peeta are playing with little Finn on the sofa while Finnick and Annie grab some of the finger food off the table and chat about something trivial, but they look happy. It warms my heart to see this oddball little family of ours. My sister has grown quite attached to Peeta. One day last week, I heard them talking about how she'd always known. I don't know what it was she'd "known" but maybe she remembered more about that blue-eyed boy than she let on.

As I sit here staring at them, my two favorite people in the world, Peeta has looked up at me and is making Finn wave at me. It's way too soon to be thinking about it, but I can't help it. He's so good with kids. I don't know if he'd ever want them with me, but I think we'd be pretty great parents. Maybe not the Cleavers or whatever, but I think we'd do just fine. We've seen the horrors that parents can do to their kids, yes. But we've also seen the unconditional love and care that people can give to children that aren't even their own flesh and blood. It won't be tomorrow. Maybe it won't be for a couple more years, but, if that's where we're headed, we've got time to work it out.

Look, the world has it out for you no matter what. I won't even try to tell you why that is, but it's the truth. I can't help but think of everything I've done and everything everyone's done for me and I feel like the luckiest woman in the world.

Maybe a couple years from now, I'll be able to give you a good, old-fashioned happy ending. Married and working, 2.5 perfect kids and a dog, white picket fence in the 'burbs, the whole deal. Well, I don't know about that last bit. I don't think that'll ever be me. But, what I can tell you is that my story's not finished enough to tie it up with a big red ribbon. Only time will tell if that ever comes to fruition.

I can't take it anymore. Sorry, Dr. A., but I need to go join in the fun. There is a spot on Peeta's neck that is begging to be kissed and I can't let the opportunity pass me by.

However, I will leave you with this; as it turns out, silver linings just might be real after all.


End file.
